Sun Mote Copse i'd rather chase the Sun than wait for it.

Ulrich. An unfamiliar name, one her rendezvous partner had not so much as mentioned. Nah, don't know an Ulrich. She shuffles uncomfortably, weight shifting from one side to the other. Her intention was to keep things vague, on that front. He was her secret, and that he would remain. She was a woman of her word, if anything. 
S'a little too... wet out here, her lips curls up into a smirk, a little snicker following it. Lotta rain. Wasn't expecting so much rain when I moved here, but eh, what can yah do. S'better than where I come from. 
It was then when she'd decided to hop from her log, making a janky approach towards Fig and pressing her nose to his flank. Her instinctual urge to know his scent seemed to win her over. He smelled strongly of freshwater and sap, earthy, yet pleasant. She pulls back abruptly, blinking at him, now with their faces much closer together. Jesus, his eyes were so green. She wondered, momentarily, what his parents must have looked like in order for him to hold such a strong emerald gaze. They were kind, welcoming eyes, a feature that seemed more inviting the more she spoke to him. 
If you don't mind me asking, she juts out her lower lip. where's your family at? Why're you all alone out here?