Firefly Glen and time breaks your heart

He startled her, despite his best efforts not to—inwardly, he flinched—outwardly, he remained stoical as he studied the woman. She gathered herself quickly and extended an invitation for him to sit. It defeated the purpose of seeking solitude—but given the sighs she had loosed earlier, he wondered if perhaps it was company that she craved.

The lightest tilt of his head was the acquiescence he gave before pulling the brush back fully to move through, his own humbled sigh barely slipping past his lips before he settled to a sit. “Akavir, of Swiftcurrent Creek,” he offered then, his pale champagne eyes falling upon the marking upon her forehead. “Which pack are you from?”