Redhawk Caldera I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry

the man that approaches is not shadow-made-flesh, and yet he too is not entirely wolf. she knows this instinctively, in the same way she knew that the neon stare of shadow-made-flesh was unearthly, but she does not know what has come to walk upon the earth in the shape of this wolf, not yet. 

she falters, gaze dropping to his chest, at the same time shifting fluidly into submission, holding herself low over the earth, tail curled and auds flicked back. tongue moves to flick over her lips, and she murmurs an affirmative, "it's dangerous." how foolish of her, to dare tread in this place, especially when creatures like this one tread it too. she does not shift, does not speak, but waits for some signal from the stranger. Elysium was, perhaps, her last chance at gaining some sort of confidence; but how fleeting was her respite.