The Heartwood xxxxiii. by the emptiness

He might have gone unnoticed, especially painted in the hues of the scenery as his pale pelt had become, if not for the all too familiar sensation of eyes on her. Aiwë wanted to believe she was wrong, that she was just being paranoid -- though the equally recognizable sinking of her heart begged to differ. For a few moments, she continued on, just long enough that she began to think her suspicions had some concrete to them. 

Then the greenpaw stopped, turning so that she could peer over her mist-wrapped shoulder into the golden haze of the ruined wood -- the cloud fogged with swirling ash even now, the flecks catching the light like flakes of gold raining down. She remained silent for the time being, searching wordlessly for whatever had her so on edge.