The Bracken Woods one

a wanderer, like him. she does not startle easily, does not lift her head at the prickle of his stare. this, he finds interesting. or—does she not notice him yet?

he cannot exactly tell. the man tilts his head, staring at her, observing, before he twitches to life. lorcan moves to step from gloom, upon paws that do not seek to disturb earth. the twitch of muscle under a onyx-brown hide ever so subtle, as he arcs in a wide bout of the woman.

she feasts like a madwoman. lorcan's eyes twitch between her and the carcassed moose.