The Floodlands like a dog with a bird at your door

Oh, hello.

With a brief, wordless greeting from her in the form of a gentle touch of her nose to the hollow of his cheek, she begins to follow him. He hadn't needed to say it, yet he did anyway. She silently appreciated it.

She let him lead, trailing behind and catching up with him via the smells that he had carried with him. Ashy was his own scent, one she'd missed more than she possibly realized. Oh, how that fire burned! The females that lingered in the wisps of his wiry chestnut fur stood out to her, sending a momentary prickle of possessiveness down her spine, yet it fizzled out just as fast as it had come in. She was no particularly loyal woman herself. She had no right to speak. She was sure he could smell her other acquaintances on her just as well; though none had been in quite the same fashion as him.

Miss me, huh? Was all she'd said at first, a devilish, winding smile slipping across her lips. With how fast he'd come to her side, she was sure he couldn't deny it.