Hushed Willows panacea

The stranger is undeniably handsome, painted in cream and gold like a winter-kissed counterpart to her own deep autumnal russets. Her head cocks slightly at his observation, steel blue eyes studying him with all the sharp intensity of her razor-edged thoughts. Not unfriendly, however; simply a predator in her own right, thoughts quick and to the point, her silent presence ironically catlike in its calculating stillness. I am, She answers softly. I have not yet laid eyes on the creature stalking me. I know that the scents of other wolves here keep it away, and that it will pursue again when I depart. There is a placid confidence to her words, a total lack of disturbance at the thought of being hunted; the product of a life spent alone and in danger, only able to trust her own abilities. And she does trust her abilities. If the predator comes for her, she will kill it. She leaves this unspoken, but the self-assurance in her words says it all the same.