Wapun Meadow absənt

kind of like him, but brown. athalia brightens a little as she paints the picture in her mind of what the missing girl may look like. her torso wriggles eagerly. ancelin tracks, i track, she chirps, eyes bright and wide as saucers. we find! come.
she begins to lead him out toward the glade lying just north of her own valley home, nose intently pressed to the ground in the same way she'd seen ancelin do it — except, to be rather frank, athalia knew very little about what she was doing. she zig-zags rather frantically, pauses before rocketing off in one direction, circles back to go another. decidedly, she did not have enough of a scent to go off of.
the perfect solution to this? turning around so that she can press her face into swiftlet's ruff, of course. if she hadn't been intrusive before, she certainly was now, roaming about his body and gathering every molecule of information she can sink her claws into — which is absolutely what every awkward teenage boy wants to happen when they meet a girl, right?