Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

She didn’t move, didn’t dare interrupt.

Her amber eyes tracked the wolf’s every motion as she lowered her head, speaking what sounded like some sort of ancient prayer. Aitana’s tail flicked behind her, the faintest rustle of leaves giving away her position before she could stop it.

She would hunker down further, and pray she wasn't heard. But, if she were seen, she’d simply use the opening to satisfy her growing curiosity.