Emberwood [m] Lynchpin

what ultimately drew praimfaya to switch her path through the emberwood; the late daylight casting a hazy golden halo upon the thick branches of the trees that have begun to bud with the promise of new life, she did not know. instinct? the scent of blood? the masculine musk of the stranger? all of them possible and none perhaps more stronger than the itch beneath her skin; the flush of her skin hidden by her silvery sugarsweet moonbeam fur. she had felt the change beginning over a week ago when she'd struck out from rivenwood at mahler's request and traced paths: new and old as if the commander were on a scouting mission.

perhaps she thinks with a small coy twist of her lips: she is.

she moves forward, towards the strengthening scents without fear; though she is not sure what to expect. in this, she is untrained. clumsy like a cub learning to fight all over again. the cloying scent that emits from every fibre of her being isn't new to her per se — she'd been around plenty of females and knew it by distinction — but she hadn't been aware how it would affect her in turn.

it is not long before he comes into view and her frostbound gaze studies him. from first glimpse he is robust; sturdy looking. littered with scars that in her mind marks him as a gona. unabashed, the commander lets out a soft chuff to garner his attention; if she did not already have it.

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