Emberflame Ridge i'm not above a love to cash in

the wraith's head lifted at the sound, pale tongue rasping along her grime-stained chops as she assessed him. 

her first thought: he was storm. 

alkmini watched the roiling greys as they billowed and undulated over him -- other or trick of the light, she did not care. stone, shadow, murk, depth, smoke. 

the second: that they were opposing sides that belonged to the same coin. twins in the violence that branded their flesh.

a blink when she realized that she did not know how long she'd watched. a corresponding straightening. 

if he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd not have alerted the pale hart to his presence. and likely -- would've rushed her by now. 

even so, there was premeditated stillness that did not leave her as she dipped her head in inclination. 

not quite doe, but stag. waiting -- ready for the flee. or for the need to lower its antlers and charge. 

another shift, an invitation. if he was hungry, the dog would not turn him away.