The Heartwood Tréximo

The girl was not very convincing. Antigone eyed her with a skeptical stare before her question reached him.

Not really from around here, he admitted to her in his sullen voice. The boy’s navy eyes shifted to peer through the trees, eastbound to where Epoch rested in the vale. She didn’t smell like any of the wolves he’d met from Mereo. She smelled like something else, something curious and unfamiliar. It eased the boy into a false sense of comfort. Whoever this girl was, she would not be a risk to his runaway plans.

Can I ask your name? Antigone prodded. You’re uh-

Pretty? That felt gross to say to a girl. It felt worse to think it about a girl that wasn’t Meadow.

Your colors are nice.