Kintla Flatlands the sun has blinded me

So I went to reply to this last night and fell asleep, lmao. Literally went to bed with my laptop open to this post.

Not too far down one particular trail that had begun to lead out from the river, Mordecai soon heard the approach of another. He had no more time to look behind him and acknowledge a wolfish form before that form was speaking to him. Yet there was enough time to catch the sway in her small frame, perhaps even the ghost of a smile lingering on her features. It wasn't hard for him to ascertain that she was not of a pack, because like he had been just a handful of days ago, the wilds had claimed her in a earthen, woodsy musk.

"A story?" he asked, though the question was more rhetorical than anything. "Do I really look like a storyteller?" His rejoinder was not meant unkindly, but rather held humor in its grasp. Mordecai did not consider himself a storyteller in the slightest, though he had a penchant for finding out the stories of others. Or at least some sort of story.