Haunted Wood there is a light

A man approached, and the peach immediately grew alert, posture tall, ears swivelling forwards. Her eyes moved from the ungulate to the area in front of her, settling on a ginger pelt. He was bigger than her, well-muscled, but she remained where she sat, almost subconsciously trying to make herself appear larger.

The riverbed was the only thing that occupied the ground beneath him. Eyes like raging oceans glittered back at her. A testament of hardship, resilience, she thought. And for a moment, the peach wondered if he was a kindred spirit.

He'd asked if she was thirsty with a slight nod, and Georgia shook her head. I just drank, the usual brashness that accompanied her voice had been quieted, her tone a murmur as to not scare the doe that occupied the river only a few ways away from them. Have some. Mighty satisfyin' to a parched throat. But still, no matter how quiet she was, the southern accent still spilled from her lips.

His eyes stilled on her own. Watching with an intent. But what? She, too, held the contact. Strong. Unapologetic. But he did not seem aggressive. Something about him reminded him of the trees: still, unmoving, weathered. With roots spreading out for miles. With a humorous breath out of her nose, she wondered if that was why he was so still. Roots coming out of his paws, into the ground, or something.

Peach, actually, she hummed, a smile upon her face as she nodded. The stranger looked from her to the deer. Simple words, but eyes that blazed like the hottest of fires: blue in all of its intensity. Just lettin' it get a drink in. No point in huntin' if I'm not hungry. Hunting for fun wasn't her style.

Her eyes squinted for a moment. Perceiving, maybe. Surveying him as she looked up and down his figure. Are you hungry, mister? A hungry man was not always a dangerous man, but he was not always gentle, either.