growth

She had heard his approach (it was not as though he had tried to hide it) but she kept moving, although she did slow her pace some. Blanc did not mind company, in fact, she preferred it to solitude. Her mother had always been around, and her sister as well; her brothers, brutish and bullies, were equally as constant a presence, nipping at her heels like the heathens they were. It was strange to look over her shoulder at a wolf that was not her family; for most of the Frostbitten wolves were just that. Females, at that, because her father and his men had chased off the sons of Bluet, potential threats. Only her fair sisters remained. All frenchwomen. As Blanc herself had been raised to be.

He was a large man, perhaps as large as the men in her family. She might have been confused if it were not for his bright eyes; her families typical hue were browns and shades of blue, and only the blue cold be so pale as his eyes were, but ah, from the fleeting glance, they were not of that shade. Her fiery eyes—bright in their youth, as was typical for her DeMonte heritage—gave him a slow once-over, assessing as both a woman and an enemy might. His proud presence ruffled her wrongly; but ah, for now, she knew her place, and he was quick to absolve his sin by flattering her. Her negative views were eradicated, and she threw him a disarming smile. Blanc was as no Tartok wolf ever was; she was charming, eloquent, and bright.

Je suis nouveau, And then she remembers, this is not a brother, nor an Uncle; this was a man who likely only knew English. Her smile turns apologetic, and she tilts her head somewhat, turning so now he could get a decent look at her. Her winter furs were full in, but they did not hide her femininity; only, perhaps, the strength beneath could not be noted. She was still growing into these curves, but her mother had taught her enough to know just what to do with most everything. Her mother had plans for her, as did her father; in the end, neither of them won, and she learned of women and of savages. Excuse me, I forget I am not home. I am new, that is why you have not seen me, she corrects herself and turns away now, looking toward the border. As for his next words, Blanc grins. Wishful thinking has me hoping you've only ever been in this pack, so that she could be the prettiest woman he had ever seen, oh vanity!, and she turns away, But I imagine you are a well-traveled man. With that she begins to move forward, slowly still, her nose again brushing the ground. This place was sufficiently marked, but she pressed her face into the snow anyway, lifting up to shake off the remaining snow from her brow before again continuing to move.