Whitewater Gorge If I Beg, if I Plead

moonbeams etched fragmented patterns across the spectre, each dainty step assisting their frenetic dance. the chill strokes tenderly at the curves of her figure as sprightly puffs of frost flecked air billowed rhythmically from lax jaws. the witching hour had drawn this particular haunt from the refound protection of her tenebrous woods to loosen stiff muscles despite the increasingly enraged snarl of the festering wound perched sneering upon her shoulder. yet the night is not completely hers it seems as the scent of a man drifts unbidden through the frigid air. ears shift atop her head as the warrior casts inky eyes to the figure just as the question launches forth to crash uncaring through the silence. with movements so delicate she appears almost to drift, tundra emerges under the star sprinkled skies; frostbound gaze narrowed on the glow of his silvered figure. "just another wanderer" it snakes forth soft yet frost tipped, an acknowledgement to the lack of a pack scent clinging to the glimmer of his fur.