Firefly Glen there is no prize to perfection,

a heavy shift with the wind—the breeze carves through long, inky tresses. ruffling the state of his fur, though he does not fuss over it quite yet. instead, he enjoys the gusts. it brings with it floral scents; soft and reminiscent. 

and then it brings the carry of a voice. hardly able to withstand the blow of the current; a mere wisp. for a moment he wonders if he'd even truly heard it. brows furrow as the healer looks to and fro. the tall glades of grass sway and dance, and for just a second they break into a path that leads to an unfamiliar woman. 

he isn't the most...outgoing man. his muscles tense now, knowing he isn't alone. withers prick with a mild annoyance now that his peace and quiet is gone. with a sigh, he stands. hobbles through the sea of green until he finds her. 

a young, spritely thing. small enough that a gust of wind might blow her away. hardly a threat, and yet it doesn't quite soothe his wariness. 

"greetings," he murmurs. voice light, not unfriendly but not exactly welcoming. "you are not of forneskja...who are you?"