Phantom Hollow oh, who is she?

She felt him.

He could tell by that all telling rise of fur, how she turned without command to turn, eyes painted of lavender he could almost smell. Draped in winter furs, she had the disadvantage over him -- but she was just as perceptive and that made up for what she lacked.

He flared his nostrils to catch her scent. It hovered like a spectre long forgotten.

Her voice, too, like flames unattended, and now barely breathing.

He was quiet a moment. Dark eyes static and unmoving. Then, Oi Kryfoi, he settled on for her, a name just as lost as each of them had become, if he truly did stare a memory in the face.