Ankyra Sound i hate i have to disguise it

sobeille sped onward in her errand, a furskin satchel carried in her jaws. from its folds, the faintest scent of sweet musk.

a stranger crossed her path. sobeille saw the shadow before she saw him -- his fur was the rich auburn of the sequoias, his broad face framing a pair of ice-blue eyes.

she froze for a second, registering him -- and then, like a thief, bolted towards the mouth of the grotto.