...but it was too much to ask for apparently, when within her own realm of the woodland. Luck came as both a giving and cruel maiden having graced her desperate nostrils with the fragrance of prey. To her stomach yet filled, it was blessing to be pursue even if it meant boldly crossing into territories beyond that lay claimed. Desperation would incline she care little, though the semblance of etiquette to a pack’s territory would remind the wanderer that no scent was worth pursuit if her reward would be the pain of flashing fangs. How she despised the ethereal fae called Luck; giving and taking within the same cursed instance.
In silence, she remained at the threshold in contemplation, blatantly testing the idea of crossing in with a swift step. Perhaps if she were bolder, it would not have required thought but action. A quick enough step to continue the trail to its blood-filled end then run tail high far enough to avoid an angry following. But she was not so bold. Not so foolish as that. Yet she loitered none the less, even took to a short stalk… til a sound from the rear invoked her halt with a turn of both ears and tail pricked high and alert.
A spire of black peeled from the shade of the encompassing woodland, drifting over with ease… a certainty regarding the land in which he stood. The female was still as he came nearer, her piebald eyes of brown and gold never leaving his muzzle as he stood within her proximity. Her body remained poised with an air of wild comfort, gracelessly and skewed as the weathered autumnal tree. A twitch of her nostrils told of his communal claim to the land and yet she regarded him no differently and simply turned her gaze back to the intangible trail. “…my hunt trails into these lands…” she uttered quietly, simply. |