Swiftcurrent Creek a smooth sea never made a skillful sailor

A moment played out that did little to soothe his fraying nerves -- an awkward half step forward, and then she hesitated, not closing the distance that before, he could see her doing so with ease. The stoical mask broke down then, and a frown lit his features as his eyes fell questioningly upon her.

It was as if she could read his troubled thoughts, and was quick to attempt to assure him.. though it did not. "Then what's wrong?" His rumble was gentle in the night, as if he did not wish to speak too loudly for others might overhear them. It was the cinnamon wolf that closed a step between them, looking over the honeyed wolf he had come to determine a friend. He had seen very little of her since the meeting, and while he believed that to be the catalyst to which she held herself in hesitance, he did not understand where the conversation would lead from here. Did she feel shunned? Angry? Sad? Something was on her mind -- she, after all, had called for him.

So why now did she falter?