Fairspell Meadow i sing the blues and swallow them too

Her attention snaps back to the present at the distant sound of footsteps in the snow, gaze drifting toward the source. She stills, ears perked. Her first instinct is to flee, but she knows by now that isolation won't get her anywhere. If she is going to live, she needs to face the world. She sees little through the darkness, but the sound is steadily growing louder, and she knows soon her path will cross with whatever approaches. She lifts her nose to catch a scent, taking a few steps forward, but it's useless. She's downwind of the other. So she presses forward instead, chuffing softly to see what response she might get.