Firefly Glen seem to paint a red line

she is not long in solitude; the nearness of another soon becomes apparent. the girl pauses, swings her muzzle back the way she'd come. for a moment, in the evening haze, nothing shifts. but then, almost easily missed among the snow and shadow, is a woman. the girl's auds cant forward, chin lifting as she regards the stranger. "what?" she calls, the word sharp. she's not the one creeping around behind strangers.