Sun Mote Copse whispering her wishes to the threads

the sound of movement alerted antha to the presence of another creature even before she heard the groan. the witch halted, ears tall and alert as she scanned her surroundings. her eyes fell on a patch of yellow snow, and the disheveled man who rose from it. perhaps disheveled was too kind. he was filthy.
she held back a grimace as he called to her and leapt. yes, it is a fine morning, she managed, eyeing him warily and thinking herself rather polite for overlooking what a mess he was making of himself.