Alpine Lake circles

He beckoned her in her own native tongue—the dryness in her throat burning now as she tried to swallow. Her gaze flittered from him, her delicate brows arching as she considered his words. Next, the smooth encouragement mixed once more with the language that she did not understand, and foolishly, the girl took a step closer, her nose tilting to better catch wind of his scent.

Had Meadow understood the concept of a man in a van, she might have balked completely at the point and retired completely back the way she had come. But there was a certain intrigue that caressed the stranger’s very presence, and so she drifted even closer, her muzzle canting to the side only slightly.

So desperate for companionship.

“Your words. They’re beautiful,” she murmured, and while it was a given compliment, a light frown pulled at her impish features. “Where are you from?”