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

It struck him as he investigated, that she had led him here on purpose. That she knew this forest after all.

When she turned and crouched in to the flower bed, he advanced to where she lingered and inspected her coat all over again — brazen with his attention. Uncaring if he invaded her space too quickly or for too long.

She did not smell of the woods yet she knew the woods. The affection she held for these flowers went right over Mesa's head; he thought, maybe, she was trying to trick him after all.