Bramblepoint Make it after all

Stark watched her draw closer, a glint of curiosity present in his solid gaze as she eased herself onto the edge of the log.

Georgia.

The name suited her somehow, even if it was the most outlandish name he'd heard. With her cautious movements and guarded tone, all wrapped in that slow, drawn-out accent. He let the name roll around in his head for a moment, studying her with the patience of a predator assessing the worth of its quarry.

So far, she seemed adequate for picking apart.

“Stark,” He rumbled out, voice a heavy fox as he looked upon her with a lidded eye. It was difficult to pin her, let alone see past that guarded wall she steeled around herself. "It is a pleasure to meet you." He offered her the faintest incline of his head. She didn't sit close to him, good. A careful doe, cautious of her surroundings.

He could respect that. Life didn’t favor the reckless.

“Georgia,” he repeated, almost musing, his tone holding a subtle edge of amusement. “You’re a long way from comfort, aren’t you?” It wasn’t a question, more of an observation, one he came to easily. He huffed a laugh. "Which big, bad wolf has wounded that bleeding heart of yours?" A bold inquiry as he leaned in closer, head low enough to rest upon his paws.