Dawnlark Plains Sabat

Something moved in the grass, causing their head to snap downward. Their eyes combed the sedge, rimed in crystals that glowed dimly in the moonlight. Their nose twitched, drawing in the frigid air. But Masquerade saw nothing, smelled nothing. They stilled, squinting.

And then they heard another noise, more distantly. They turned and then began rising onto all fours in one fluid movement when they realized a wolf was approaching them. Masque promptly braced their entire body, head lowering and ears falling back, tail pointing rigidly behind them.

Before them stood a young male with markings as distinct as their own and an accent to match. Masquerade stared at him for several beats. They weren’t particularly in the mood for company, though they had to admit they were intrigued.

Who wants to know? they demanded softly, sniffing toward him to capture and catalog his scent.