Deepwood Weald the scavenger feeds in hum of low sea

Silence spreads between them, and he found it difficult to keep his gaze upon her. The wiser wolf in him wants to continue to survey those surroundings if only hinged upon the fact that she does not run, yet does not reply. Yet it was not a long wait that drew out a curt response; she is moving almost in time with the goodbye off her lips.

Wait, he wanted to call after her.

But the words did not come—she seemed so set on fleeing his presence that he finds no desire to keep her or give her chase. Instead his gaze is kept on her as she goes, watching as her body slips lowly into better cover and well out of his gaze. The strangeness of the encounter does not trouble him for long; it is surprisingly refreshing, the sort of thing to focus him and to let go of worrisome matters with a sigh.

Today she will live for another day, though he wonders just how many more.