Firefly Ravine but there were no wounds

there is a distinct feeling of being watched; abruptly. it sends the guard hairs along his spine bristling with unbridled and primal unease. geist, akin to his name, is so very used to gliding thru lands unseen that when wolves pay him attention, always against his strongest wishes, he is always unsettled. without rabe's comforting presence it is always worse; and worse yet since the hellfire. once he was a weaver of mystical tales, gifted with the ability to construct flowing sentences like mutter. the desire to speak has left him since the ash and smoke burned his throat with each desperate inhale of breath in the middle of the destroying hellfire.

the sweep of mismatched grey gaze is quick, subtle; progress thru the muck is expectantly slow. the drizzle is his cover and he finds the source of that primal creeping feeling at the nape of his neck. across the distance a winter pelaged woman watches him. geist finally gives pause to watch her for a few seconds before he keeps trudging along his path, holding onto the perhaps vain hope that the woman does not attempt to make contact.