Bramblepoint Make it after all

She had circled back around, now, but rather than retracing her steps back to the lake, Georgia would return back to the woods she had only briefly visited before, filled with a curiosity that hadn't been fulfilled when she'd stepped foot within the forest the first time. She moved with a free-spirited demeanor, but her pricked ears and the fur that raised from her spine said otherwise. A subconscious preparation to run.

As Georgia approached the treeline, though, a faint scent reached her rosy nose. One she couldn't discern just yet, though if the anxiety within her gut was to be trusted—and, oh, it was—it was a wolf. A stranger. A man. She'd creep forwards, now. Pawsteps light, careful. Airy, though in the sense of their silence, rather than any sort of whimsical appearances. The peach would approach quietly, citrusy gaze settling upon the man who sat atop the rotting log. She came from behind.

Her voice marked her presence. A low, gentle 'woof' from a few ways behind him. Friendly, though tentative. Waiting for him to look at her, to say something, do something. Was this a good man, like the one she had met first?: Sol? Or was this a violent man? She hoped he wouldn't be.

But hope was a fools' wish — That was something she knew.