Porcupine Ridge saturday night kind of pink

the woman follows, though her wobbling is not lost on the wraith. her companion is fallen into silence, though she need not voice her discomfort in order for the shadow to notice it. she continues only a few meters more before pausing, allowing the distance between the two of them to shrink. 

she moves to walk alongside the woman, ears sweeping in query as her gaze finds the paw she favours. "are you okay?" asks the cant of her muzzle, warming to the stranger. this near, she can make out the distinct notes of rose and cedar that cling to a pelt she imagines would be silken to the touch. she cannot reason what this woman, made with gentle softness, is doing among the harshness of this place.