The Heartwood starts soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

she is not long alone. she has grown used to other crossing her path; they seek prey, homes, not her. most of the time, they simply walk on, rarely, are they cruel, taunting. this one pauses, calls out. the wind whips toward her, and the girl tenses against it, blinking through the snow. the scent it bears is familiar, gut-wrenchingly so, and yet the silhouette is not. her brother is small and hurt. 

the thrill that arches along her spine is infused with dread, doubting the legitimacy of the figure before her. tongue slips over her lips, confusion settling like a fog. "you're big. tall." she can not trust what she sees, can not trust scents in figures in the snow.