Moonspear There's a girl.

hello!

Tsar is quiet.

Moving through undergrowth with the low stalk of a hunter, those widening moss-green eyes of his scanning upon autumnal fall. Driven by the grumble of his own belly, he searches in roaming circles for any sign of prey. Disturbances within foliage, prey-scent draped upon fern, trails.

And just as he thought he might have caught sight of something—

Loud movement. The man straightens upwards, quickly, head snapping across the expanse of stone and reaching into the distance. There is a girl wandering, watching with wild eyes over the lands.

Tsar squints, roaming closer, and yet giving her a wide berth.