The Tangle Moonchild, flying wild.

There were scents of rabbit, quail, and a veiled flavor like deer upon the earth.

The birds were lively in the trees; they barely dipped in volume as Sanja passed where they perched, but she felt their eyes following her too, and it was a touch unnerving.

When she finally stopped to regard a wallow of exposed dirt — the kind that wild pigs might create while truffling the flora — there was the sound of marching feet; elated, thinking of the man and the good feelings he had stirred within her, she looked for signs of him.

A glimpse of something pale between the trees.