Honeyed Pasture but i've never loved one before

Unbound, the pale woman bypasses the mountains, avoiding the marked spot in the ground where her husband lay, knowing the scar on her heart would only tear open at the sight of it. Reasons unknown to her, Ketzia always finds herself nearing the shores time and again—perhaps simply for the differing aesthetic of the churning sea compared to the mountains and forests she usually kept to.

The salt air was sharp in the winter chill, and vaguely the she-wolf wondered if the shores were even habitable for the natives this time of year—for the ungulates of the season surely did not stray this way.

The consideration of the question was unimportant—what mattered was that she had left her children in a place of contentment, and for now, she had at least located an old friend, reassuring of his safety.

What was also important was the scent that drifted toward her on the cold wind—the promise of herds… and… wolf.

She does not see him at first—the casual flick of her tail and the quiver of her muzzle indicating she had become wary of his presence, and the exotic woman pauses, scouring the pastures set just before her until jade eyes set upon the dark stranger. She remains silent, contemplative--uncertain if she is truly interested in conversation when the quiet seems so perfect.