Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

her voice curled up like honeysuckle in the breeze, light and warm, but her chin tilted with a quiet insistence as she answered.
eulie dawn. a pause. a beat. then, with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, not eulie. eulie dawn. her name was a song. a full one. it didn’t come in halves, didn’t come trimmed short like the fraying of someone else’s memory.
she let it hang in the air a moment, then hummed low under her breath, a few wandering notes. something old and wordless, drawn from the riverbanks and midnight hollows of the covey way.
songbird’s a fine enough name, she mused, stretching out one paw lazily in the grass. but names are meant to mean somethin’. and mine was given on a moon-thick night when the frogs sang louder than the coyotes. i keep it close.
her brown eyes flicked to him, unreadable, but not unkind. i ain’t causin’ trouble. just passin’ through. trouble’s got longer legs than me.
then she looked back out to the trees, the hush of wind threading through her fur. what do they sing 'bout you?