Bearclaw Valley wildflower

twitch wasn’t used to seeing wolves like the ghostly woman before her. soft, warm—like the promise of spring itself. it was unnerving, almost, the way she carried herself so easily despite the scars clawed up her thighs, across her spine.

she lingered a few trees away, watching for a moment longer than she probably should have. she was gathering things—feathers, grass, bits of the earth. twitch didn’t understand why, but there was intention in her movements. curiosity killed the cat.

finally, she stepped closer, ears dipping back out of habit. “what’re you doing?” the words left her before she could stop them—too blunt, too graceless. she winced slightly at herself but didn’t take them back.