Phantom Hollow In this world, it's just us

Stark emerged from the shadows, his gait steady but weighted by the exhaustion of days spent wandering through unfamiliar lands. He’d been tracking something—maybe not someone, maybe only a memory, elusive and fragmented, slipping just out of reach every time he thought he’d caught it. It was immensely frustrating, and as the days passed, the wolf of white grew more and more exhausted. Not only physically, but mentally.

The weighing toil of not knowing.

The sight of another as he dawned the hill he’d been traversing proved slightly annoying. It’d be difficult to just avoid them, so he didn’t even try to. Stark’s paws crunched the leaf matter underfoot as he grew closer, careful to not linger in any personal space. A respectful distance was maintained. He cleared his throat, more out of habit than necessity, before he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting to see someone else,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. His gaze drifted to the edge of the trees where she looked.

After a pause, he glanced at her, curiosity mingling with the weariness in his gaze. “Looking for something?”