Snowforest Taiga a wandering soul Traveling a well worn road

The stranger did not move, and neither did Boris, but from the safety of his hiding place, he could see the man well enough, framed between the leaves. The easy way he looked about him. The gentle glint in his eyes. The soft wave of his voice, like a springtime breeze.

Do not be afraid, yet fear still gripped him. The shaking of his forelegs. A sick twist of the gut. Go out to this stranger and eat with him? That had never been the plan. But if he didn't go out now, the man would turn and leave, wouldn't he? Taking with him the food he offered.

Boris licked his lips, and yawned with a pitched whine. Then, he crawled from the shadows, bony frame shuddering the spindly branches around him. Hunched over and cowering like a kicked puppy, gaze flicking to the provisions, then back to stare at the man of God - wherever, or whoever, that was.