Falls of the Hinterlands seeker

the girl is small when ione finds her. small, and tired.

she watches for a time, saying nothing. observing the frailty of youth and solitude as it pools around the child like mist. the disarray of her pelt, the lingering scent of far-off places clinging to her skin. motherless, perhaps. abandoned, perhaps. it is all familiar.

quietly, as if the earth itself had exhaled her from the shadows, ione steps forward, the damp beneath her paws undisturbed as if it knows better than to cling.

alone?

the single word drifts, dispassionate and smooth. not a question meant for comfort. not kindness. merely observation, plain as the rain slipping from the leaves.

ione stops a respectful distance away, pale gaze trailing over the girl—just once, slow and appraising, but not lingering long enough to be mistaken for care.

the wilds will eat you if you stay curled like that.

not a threat. not even advice. a fact.

her head tilts ever so slightly, the cascade of her pale fur unmoving despite the breeze.

where are you going?

there is no offer of help. not yet. only curiosity—and the quiet, dangerous kind.