The Sunspire your eyes were the color of some kind of grey

pls no eat

coelho had followed bronte's scent as far as she could before she encountered territorial marks around her. at first the scent had been subtle - an old tuft of fur here, the faded tread of packwolves -- but as she came closer to the border, it was clear the area was heavily patrolled.

her long ears flipped up, and then down as she considered what to do; bronte was here, she could tell by the fresh tracks he had left -- but how could she get him? he was in there, and there was heavily patrolled. she had learned the edict of the wild once already, and felt the teeth of the pack at her back -- she would not press her luck again.

a whine bubbled from her throat and her ears continued their sonar flapping as she wrestled with what she wanted to do, and what she ought to do. too struck by apprehension to think clearly, coelho fell into an old stereotypy and started to nervously circle, her tail clasped in her mouth as she went round and round in a blur of furry ouroboros.