Redtail Rise they really think it can't get any worse

a stranger approaches from within the borders. she does not hear the woof he makes, but she can see the action and the high rise of his tail over his back. she is the outsider here. the stranger at their borders who did not — could not announce herself beyond the scent of the kill and, if he felt so inclined, the cry of ghost.

though ghost was her feathered shadow, their symbiotic relationship was still little more than that.

as the pack wolf draws nearer, she lowers her posture, slipping into one that flirted between neutral and submissive.

this was his turf.

she thinks his lips are moving and fights back the rising tide of distraught and frustration that threatens to rise up within her. an unwelcome reminder that she was behind the curve ball in forms of reading lips, unaware that his speech was garbled and that she likely wouldn't be successful either way.

her paws itch to sign in ptero, but for the moment she refrains, instead making a breathy huff and nosed the kill towards him a few inches before taking a few steps back: for you and yours, is what she attempts to communicate with the gesture.