Wapun Meadow be gentle as you tear me apart

blackfell paused mid-stride, his head tilting slightly as the soft voice reached him. it drifted like a breath of wind, floating about him like snow drift. his fern-green eyes locked onto the woman—delicate—across the snow. a chuffed in amusement. his gaze flicked over her, taking in her tucked tail, her sideward ears, the faint quiver in her stance. fragile. scared. a willow caught in the wind. his lips twitched, not quite forming a sneer but close enough to suggest a hint of disdain for her apparent frailty.

when he finally spoke, finally grew closer upon lumbering steps, his voice was low, rough. you’re a long way from home, he speaks and his voice is more a growl than anything.

he didn't know where her home was, of course, but he knew it wasn't here.