Kildeer Rest propaganda you should fall for

this man, this stranger man, comes closer. and by all that ravah knows, she should turn her nose up at him, snarl and send him away from her. she is a fair woman, of her people. strangers?

she was intolerant of them. or, always had been.

but here, there were no people. no one of the big sky. the ute did not roam, for her family bonds had been destroyed seasons ago. with it, her home. so, here, yes, she searched for those who had scattered. the ones she knew lived.

but this stranger man is respectful, allowing her breadth and that large, gruff head of his slips down into a calm bow. ravah recognizes it, those silver eyes of hers softening—if only a little—and she huffs. cold, visible air blowing from nostrils ringed by wet.

she has never been treated like this, not even by those she loved, and it shows in the small, uncertain tilt of her ears as she studies him.

i have name, ravah says quietly, before taking an approaching step. ravah. she meets him in the middle, while her eyes roam upon him. assessing his strong shoulders, his thick flank. the heavy fur which is warm and dark like the earth itself, and bronze eyes that watch her... studying.

she laughs, airy. you look? she questions. why do—

and it is then she can smell it on him. in this close proximity, the lingering of him. and ravah gawks upon barrett now with wide eyes and a startled disposition, hackles bristling ever so slight. covah... her soft voice darkens. with a sudden stride, she eliminates any and all distance between her and this southern-talking man.

where—... he? breathless, frazzled.