Alpine Lake circles

Someone emerged from the growth—a kvenmaður. His gaze snapped to her in a blink, holding her carefully as one may a delicate object. But it was a sharp gaze, wary of her sudden presence as much as he was satisfied his assumptions were correct. The heights did not keep away wolves nor did he expect them to; the path up to the lake had been riddled with score marks from hardy travelers.

With water to run down his chin, the unkempt furs of his neck ruffled with the wind as he raised his head from the crisp waters. His tail flagged, its interpretation left up to wonder as he regarded her, debating whether or not to fancy and entertain company with a creature. It was a very short deliberation—why not entertain himself with her company?

“Rauðhærður,” he crooned at her, “komdu hingað.”