Phoenix Maplewood The wind and I, we speak the same.

There was a boy in the woods with her. A boy - he was a man, probably, but Silanga couldn't tell the ages of people that well these days. He came upon her suddenly enough to warrant the raising of her neck furs, but she did not flee; she was an accomplished hunter to her people and -- well, was, once. Whatever strength she felt (in numbers or ability) didn't really matter now.

His chuff was friendly enough. He did not charge for her, he did not bare her teeth. She gave an almost timid glance and huffed a small sound, welcoming him, as if she had any right to do so.