Flycatcher Downs a stunning dress of hellfire

Cole’s broad frame moved through the gentle rise and fall of the prairie with a deliberate ease, his steps steady, though his amber eyes never stopped their watchful sweep of the terrain. The soft whisper of grass and the occasional chirp of an insect were the only sounds to fill the space until his gaze fell upon a figure in the distance.

A woman—formidable and striking. Even from afar, she carried the air of a seasoned warrior. Her charcoal coat, marked with fiery reds and white dustings, caught the shifting light. She moved like someone who knew what it meant to endure, to fight, and to win.

He slowed his approach, his brow lifting slightly as he took her in. The raptor circling overhead was no mere bird; it was purposeful, a partner rather than a pet. That alone intrigued him, but he didn’t linger on the falcon long. His focus returned to her as she paused by a puddle, her posture relaxed but far from careless.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, Cole stopped at a respectful distance. His southern drawl, warm and unhurried, rolled across the space between them. Afternoon, ma’am. Didn’t mean to intrude. His eyes lingered briefly on the falcon before returning to her golden gaze.

You from around here, or just passin’ through? There was no challenge in his tone, only an openness that invited conversation, though his stance remained wary—just in case.