Overture Downs not my friend but i wont say no

Stale snow and dried yellow grass crunched beneath distant footfall. The fog parted around the beast’s shape, eyes narrowed pitifully against the early morning haze. A mirage of muted oaks and deep chocolate, lumbering about like an ill-mannered bear with its small, golden eyes. The scent accompanying him was foreign, unfamiliar to the northerner's nose, and a slow, creeping caution curled in her chest. Tufted ears twitch and swivel backward against the nape of her neck, a burst of white formed in the air like swirling steam as she forced a puff of breath from her mouth.

The drifting breeze billows curled fur forward, spindly curls swaying like tendrils beneath her chin. Gjalla studied his face for a long moment, from the hard lines of his cheekbones to thick brows arching over his eyes, but it sparked no recognition from description or memory.

But she suspected he wasn't from here at all. He hinted at it by the way his gait carried the weight of something far more burdensome than mere travel, restless fatigue clinging to him like a second skin. Too tired and too weary to be from lands like these. Too peaceful for the likes of him. And yet, something called to her still, threaded into the earth like invasive vines in the undergrowth, there but unseen, a feeling she could never quite place. Perhaps it was the solitude, the burden of their lives etched into their bodies, like an unspoken language they both knew too well.

Before the silence could become uncomfortable - awkward, even, her lips parted, “You look miserable,” she mused flatly once he was in range, lashing her tail.