Flycatcher Downs a stunning dress of hellfire

Cole allowed her to approach, standing still as she cautiously stepped nearer, her nose twitching as she took in his scent. He mirrored her actions, lowering his broad head and sniffing at her carefully, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle her. There was something almost solemn in the exchange, a language beyond words—one he felt was necessary when words couldn’t bridge the gap.

He picked up no pack scent on her, just the wild tang of a lone wolf. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered this. No pack meant no safety, no constant source of food, and in this season, that was no small matter.

With a light huff, he stepped back a fraction, giving her space while his eyes stayed fixed on hers, searching for some understanding. Alone? he asked softly, letting the word linger in the air between them as his tail swayed faintly. He didn’t expect her to respond in words, but perhaps her body language would answer what her voice could not.