Shadowwyn Moor It came gently calling

She neared him with what seemed like practised grace, gentle and delicate in the way she carried herself. He sensed a softness about her, something he missed in the wolves he knew. The wolves of Hildibrandr were not known for their softness.

Turmeric thought her rather pretty, with her slender face and with the way her eyes so vividly shone from the rings of black around them, and he couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious of himself. He knew his bedrest had filled him out, and even though he'd had time once he'd healed up enough to find his rhythm and work himself back to how he was before, he simply hadn't had the motivation to do anything but menial work of collecting herbs and sorting through his mother's old piles. The world had seemed too heavy to do anything more.

But he had left all that back in the Strath, or tried to, and he tried not to worry about her thoughts towards him or the press of sadness that so easily overtook him. Her soul seemed gentle, and her little edge of confidence made him smile.

Oh, only a little, he said sheepishly, a broad grin still plastered on his face, but I'd never say no to going somewhere warm, he shook himself, and signalled for her to lead with a little gesture of his paw, and said, I'm Turmeric, by the way! Good a time as ever for an introduction.