Ouroboros Spine vi. two hands longing

Lótë had not been birdwatching long when the ptarmigans suddenly stopped in their frivolity, perking warily in her direction with outstretched necks. The mouse's brow rumpled, knowing that she had not disturbed them, watching as they swiveled their heads this way and that before one let out a sharp chirp. The flock scuttled away on frantic steps, feathered feet scurrying as they were swallowed up by the brush once again. The tracker's head turned as she heard a soft shuffle of movement, evergreen  gaze landing on the agouti who prowled by. Another of Raimo's hunters, she mistakenly presumed, pallid emeralds trailing after him. This one, she had not learned the name of yet.

The girl made no move to draw his attention to her nor did she call out. She would watch him go by if the male did not notice her presence of his own accord, wait for the forest to settle, and see if the grouses returned. For now, the botanist watched Zane as she had watched the birds -- with a studious, collected gaze of peridot.