Moonspear My kind

Her recent trips to the coast had been exhilarating but there was still much to discover about her homeland. On this unseasonably mild December morning, Wildfire picked her way down from the outcropping where she had spent the night with her beau, the pinks and oranges of daybreak painting the sky beyond the ashen slopes. Halfway down, she paused at the head of a deer trail to sniff at some scat, then continued descending, stumbling only twice before she reached the forest floor at its rocky base.

Her primary feeling this morning was thirsty, so she quickly sought one of the small brooks that threaded through the trees, parked on the bank and bent over to take a long, ice cold drink. Meanwhile, her warm amber eyes scoured the naked trees. She sensed a presence nearby, though there were no sights, scents or sounds to corroborate her belief that someone else was in the vicinity—at least, not yet...