Dawnlark Plains you're a poem of mystery,

the woman sealed her maw tightly shut as he seemed to race towards her, burying his nose within her thick, pale fur. should she have not kept herself quiet, she may have let out a squeak of shock - because, why should she not! his paws were quick, deliberate, when he sunk his muzzle into her neck, drawing in her smell that surely carried that of the grounds she had been born within. a shared notion for family-building flickered within her mind, and so she would push aside the odd behaviour ... for now.

the stars guided you, rala assessed, thinking. while they surely had aided in her travel, it was not the stars themselves that she followed. rather, the warmth, the raised earth and the higher elevations. it reminded her of the hardly-warmer summers up in the northern arctic, when they moved from their whelping den to the tall grasses. i follow warmth. safer for my children, in that way, where the cruelties of the wintertime could not reach them, in the same way it had wrought her and her peoples.

and so his wordless invitation would go declined, but a faint curiosity would continue to glimmer behind eyes that seemed to mirror the cold dawns she had grown up with. a question would be asked, then, and she only hoped that he would stay long enough to answer: what is your name? and, should he stick around, she would inquire as to the scent upon his pelt - the one that seemed thick upon his dark hairs. a woman.