Moonspear be mine

He had come to know her footfalls apart from any other, even her sisters.

It did not nudge him into acknowledging her immediately, at least by way of a look; his ears turned subtly with his head to hear her, and by then she was close enough to reach out and touch him if she had so desired. His interests had piqued her own, he noted, and the question off her tongue was an easy one for him to answer.

“Not unless you find badgers exciting,” he commented. Knowing her, they probably did excite her if only for that feral thrill that it might actually try and take someone’s face off. But that would only be if they encountered it and cornered it—he wanted to believe that the smaller if not angrier creature of their home would spend an adequate amount of time trying to actively avoid them all.

His gaze loitered over her then, tracing the gentle curve of her shoulder.

“So you were following me again,” he went on in his own way of starting conversation.