Chimera Fields My mother told me

Íruna’s steady gaze remained fixed on the golden wolf as his head bowed, his words rolling out of him like distant thunder. She caught the unease in his voice, the weight in the way he held himself. Her lavender eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression remained calm, her posture poised.

She lifted her head, chin tilting ever so upward. Narrowed eyes settled on the man.

“You’re not trespassing,” Íruna hummed, though her snout tilted downward in a pointed glance. “Not yet.”

She stepped forward slightly, closing some of the space between them, her tail swaying slowly behind her. “But you are at the border of Forneskja, and that makes you my concern.” With gentle examination, the wolf picked forwards, nose to the wind. She scented him, and found she didn't necessarily hate what she smelled.

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the direction he had come, as though to measure how far he’d traveled, before returning to his face. “You spoke a name, friend. Luhtar,” She returned to her initial question, which had been ignored in favor of deflection. She straightened her posture.

“How do you know the boy?” Dismissively, as if to show the man she meant no harm, she let herself settle down upon her haunches. Tail tucked close to her womanly frame.