Boartusk Heights youngblood

She is tall and stilted, with a softness to her belly like the one that circles mama. His nose twitches; she is of milk, but not warmth. The fog entangles her and twists around the thick fur curled about her neck.

Diego does not break, even as blood eyes bend low to meet him.

He is quiet as she questions him, rigid as a gargoyle and lip as twisted, too. Pale eyes track her as she haunts him. She brushes past him; the air chills.

What did it matter what he was doing here? What did it matter what his parents thought? It was none of her business - but he saved his breath.

Diego sought the forest again, by hurling himself between the woman's legs. He was small, after all, and she, so tall. If he reached the other side, he would turn round and plant himself before her again, eyes sharp and daring.

And if not?

He'd find out soon enough.