Sleepy Fox Hollow whistle tones

the earth around her is still wet from the fall of rain—beige hooves squelch through patches of mud as she stalks her way through the clearing. dark clouds loom at her back, passing her with the fresh gust of wind. it is humid; a swirling and swimming vortex of warmth that clings to an unshed winter coat uncomfortably, seeps into loose tufts of golden and ivory fur.

her head swings low as she moves, ears swiveling and she dodges through tall brush and undisturbed grass, taking chunks of it as she goes. soon, she realizes she is not alone. there is a man standing a few leagues from her with a coat like the storm clouds that she’d passed minutes ago. her head lifts, she does not speak. not yet. let him come to her, so that she may pass her judgement of him.

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@Colosseum