Haunted Wood don't fall asleep at the helm

Zsuzsa was relieved the heat wasn’t playing games with her reasoning of reality. When he acknowledged her question with a considerate response of his own, she eased her suspicion of his physical presence but still kept her indications of caution about her. Fur prickled, ears attentive, and shoulders squared, she kept her ground as he moved closer. The tone which he answered sounded like no significant threat, but even the most neighborly conversation wouldn’t allow Zsuzsa to give the benefit of the doubt.
 
Suggesting he heard all around him made her head tilt to the side in a curious motion. Was there more pronghorn to be found here and the lone pair she tracked was joining up with another band? She could feel the pit of her stomach gargle in famishment at the idea. He mentioned more insight to the eerie atmosphere of the area, which suddenly became more riveting to her than the pronghorn. ”Haunted,” She replied, her curiosity mildly engaged. ”…there wouldn’t happen to be a burial ground here, would there?” Zsuzsa had a fascination with the occult and if there was anything to be mannerly to, it was the dead and their unspoken mandates.
 
The Mackenzie was certain the black arts attached itself to her. It was the closest reason she could muster why the Raven followed her for miles and since following her, bizarre encounters happened. Zsuzsa glanced at the birch trees surrounding them, noting their unblinking eye-like lenticels. Whether the “look” of the trees made her discomfited or was suddenly interested in what the male could share, she slowly started to gravitate toward him. He was an unexpected beacon from her many moons and miles of travel. So much for not giving the benefit of the doubt. She was breaking her own rule but couldn't explain why she decided to change her mind so abruptly about keeping her distance from him.