Golden Glade cymydog

mictec heard the howl pierce the winter air, its tone measured but firm—a call not of challenge, but of intention. she paused mid-step, her marigold eyes narrowing as her ears swiveled toward the sound. the glade around her seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her decision.  

she did not hesitate long. with a slow, deliberate pace, mictec made her way toward the source, her black coat blending with the shadows that stretched across the snow. the chill bit at her paws, but she welcomed it; the cold sharpened her senses, reminded her she was alive.  

when she emerged into view, her posture was neutral but commanding, her marigold gaze fixed on the stranger with a calm intensity. she stopped a few strides away, her tail held low but steady, her voice carrying over the frostbitten silence.  

you called. i have answered.

mictec tilted her head slightly, her gaze flicking over the stranger, assessing but not unkind. speak your purpose, traveler. what is it you seek?  

her tone was not harsh, but it carried the weight of expectation.