Hushed Willows saihs

It did not occur to Edith to wonder what this place might be like in other seasons. In the city there were no seasons. It was either hot, mild, or cold. The sky was bright, or it was dark. Rarely had she been left outside of a suitably warm shelter, and never before had she gone without regular meals. To think that the world changed when she wasn't privy to those changes, that was a thought which had never occurred to her. In the spring this hillside and these willows would be in their full glory—and Edith would likely never know to return. A tragedy.

Her initial inspection took her full attention, so she did not notice the glimmer of light among the tree trunks, or the shifting of a sunlit body as another person took notice of her; muddy, dreary Edith, ugly unkept unsuitable Edith; then with one subtle motion—of a long and bushy golden boa of a tail—the woman's focus recentered.

The stranger was as different from her as could be possible. Taller, and leaner. Bright and warm in coloration, with a curious expression. Opposing this was Edith's dark-capped frown and stiffening posture, her limp tail, and immediate caution. The ochre of her brows fidgets, as if her face cannot decide on which emotion was appropriate.

Hello, she returned the greeting, unsure if she should continue to explore or not. The way back up the mountainside would be difficult but not impossible. She could recall the way; but it was a matter of speed between the two of them, and intention if the stranger saw fit to chase her.