Blackfeather Woods Like summer storms, the skies as grey as leaves.

Closer closer, closer, and each step made him scrutinize her more.

She did not move with ill-intent this time; there was humility there for a few steps, a wild look that he knew well, and then — a sneeze to rival his own.

He looked towards the tree where much of the pollen roosted, then back to her, to run his nose along her spine as closely as he could; searching for scents with more care. He did not like the feeling that came with sneezing and wanted to avoid it.

She held smells like dust, and earth, and was in no way at-home here in the forest. What had drawn her here?