Bramblepoint A thorn for your troubles

A voice accompanied by footfall stole Vale's attention away from her fussing. Ears perking as she lifted her head to view the newcomer. A man of gold with a cape of slate across his back. A stranger to her, but his jovial demeanor was welcomed. Not that there wasn't a slight nag of worry buzzing in the back of her skull. That was just natural caution. So she told herself. 

Placing down her paw she sat up to greet him with a polite smile. Leaning towards him ever so slightly as to catch a glimpse of his scent beyond the blooming bounty of their environment. He seemed to be alone, for this moment at the very least.

I would agree with you there. But better your nose than your eye, right? Her eyes trailed across his pelt. He too had strode through this wood with some hassle. I see you're collecting some thorns yourself. Are you a misguided sightseer like myself?