Deepwood Weald Damsel needing forest guide

Arlette snapped from her thoughts when a stronger wolf scent came her way. She stiffened and her red gaze quickly found the one that was approaching her. A dark colored male. Arlette didn't want him to know she had been sunken in thought. She lifted her head a bit to look more confident than she was. The male greeted her kindly, almost warmly. She hadn't expected it, so she relaxed a bit.

She was unaware that others might think of the scars that she was a fierce warrior. To her, it was so obvious that she was not, that it never crossed her mind. The girl dipped her head quietly. "Goodday," she greeted him. The girl wasn't hiding her scars anymore. Stjor and Derg had made sure of that, and perhaps Wintersbane as well. All the wolves she had met so far had admired her scars and admired her for surviving. It was weird to start believing it. "Are you familiar with these woods perhaps?,' she asked him then.