Noctisardor Bypass shibui

The feeling passed and Druid resumed her slow shuffle, frosted needles whispering underfoot. She came around a particularly dense clump of pines to find a stranger seated in her path. She immediately halted, blinking at the elderly she-wolf, eyes roving over her striking markings.

“Hello, I was waiting for you,” the old woman said, which made Druid’s features scrunch a little. Who was this lady? Was she new, like Ålesund? And what did she mean by that? It made the youth’s hackles prickle.

She remained rooted to the spot until the stranger moved closer to her, as if to touch, asking, “Can I?” Druid flinched away from her, shaking her head and saying, No. Please don’t touch me. Her voice was little more than a croak, quieter than a whisper.

Perhaps undeterred by Druid’s aloofness, the woman asked her about the wound. She bit her lip, deliberating what to say, not that she could speak much. Letting her take a look was probably a good idea, better than bothering Mahler or letting Ålesund touch her.

It happened about a week ago, Druid murmured, voice scratchy. I was running and tripped, she added, a half-truth.