Overture Downs i got hot sauce in my bag....swag

timelines are for chumps

 and yet she has not turned toward the sea, not pausing to follow that beckoning salted air even as the chill deepens. as if the wind itself is chanting gently wb, back to the sea, but her pretty mind spins spins spins with all she's seen and felt. surely she'll be back at the plateau before the next moon and ain't that why weetzie's there now, to reassure them of her fickle wanderings but true heart -- ?

 well, he probably won't, the stick in the mud. 

 but still she lets herself roam, lazily hooking around the base of the mountain as night gently sways into day, lighting her in pinks and oranges that set her aflame in golden glow. fatigue tugs her impatiently and wb sighs, for once obeying her body's orders and arranging herself in the meadow for a quick nap - until she isn't alone anymore, a sweet-damp smell in the air of wolf.

for a minute the witch thinks to nap anyway - one pretty lady near-by isn't a threat, but, oh, she is a pretty lady, and the starlet hauls to her feet, a hum caught in her throat. the she-wolf is tracking somethin', it looks like, and for once she ain't keen to interfere, instead slipping up nearly beside her with a half-cackled chuff to join in her early morning hunt without invitation (but surely welcome!).