Flycatcher Downs the veldt

as she plucked free a briar from the fur of her haunch, the wind gave rise to stories. it told her she was not alone; but she knew that always, and trusted that it was the scent of feral man which thrilled her spine. she did not stop her tidying. there were bits of grass to pull free, and seeds scattered, and dandelion fluff—besides which, the stranger made his own approach.
why bother going on the defensive when she had seen no danger? skuka trusted herself. she knew how fast she could run, how powerful her bite. as they came closer there was a focus to the way they moved. it was as if skuka was a beacon and the man—a shadow, she glimpsed with a flick of her gaze—he had some mission in mind.
she regarded him wholly as he spoke, rising to her full height to make it known she was not to be trifled with. idle a moment, but that was all. her brow creased. i see no blood on you, skuka countered—not understanding any of the words he spoke until the end.
it struck her with an odd fondness that they shared a language, even if it was only a little.