Shy Deer Steppes the silent shouter on the hill

Leshen saw the funereal march of the girl and her attendants long before any of them saw him. He spied upon their strange dark dressings and markings, and he allowed himself to be noticed out of sheer curiosity. He was less wary of this pack, given that his witch-master lived in their midst, and he felt no immediate need to shy away from them.

At her voice, he recognized her as the one who had fed him nearly two full moons ago. She looked odd, compared to their first encounter, and he was not near enough to detect any illness on the wind, so when she beckoned him forward, he did so with a hesitant stride. After all, she had freely fed him before, what was to say she would not do so again?

Tilting his muzzle into the wind, he tried to scent what – if anything – was wrong with her, but nothing overly strange touched his senses. The serpent slithered nearer but maintained an unfriendly distance. Though certainly less flighty than before, he clearly still did not trust her or her gaggle of servants.

His eyes flitted back and forth from her to her picnic-setting assistants, questioning. The thief’s gaze asked: why do you call me closer?