Hushed Willows [m] Mental Wounds

Tufts of crimson and cream fur blew in the wind as Reina cleaned herself of the mud that had almost cemented to her paws and legs. The snow had melted into the banks of the river she had been following, and it took almost everything in her to not slip on the slick mud into the icy waters. She had tripped a couple of times, mostly because she wasn't quite paying attention to her footing, lost in some thought process as she explored her new home.

She kind of loved it here. The willows were her favorite features of the terrain. The memory of her getting tied up into their whip-like branches when she first arrived in the area came to her then. She chuckled, reliving the feeling of being upside down and Reverie coming upon her poor soul.

This elated feeling was foreign to her. The need to look over her shoulder was a constant companion during her travels, the anxiety at night and the fear of every noise made her jumpy. It was exhausting. Some days she felt as if she would never escape. But this place felt so…freeing.

She could breathe.

And then it was short lived as the wind shifted and a scent hit her.

Unfamiliar; singular; masculine.

The fiercest of growls emitted from the female. Her hackles raised, head low, ears on a swivel. He was near, but she couldn’t see him. She didn’t dare move from her spot; she wasn’t prey. She wouldn’t run. Not this time. Reina was done running. She made a fool of herself with Boone–he wasn’t even a threat to her.  But this unfamiliar male was just that–unknown to her and, immediately, a threat.