Bramblepoint the devil's right there in the details

While she is distracted he slips closer, finding it easy to move through the trees without disturbing any of the low-laying bramble bushes. Nothing about this place, or about her, is familiar. Not even when she turns to look at him. Not when she speaks — he can't tell if she's surprised or afraid, as if those are mutually exclusive, but it does bother him that she's looking at him. Like she knows him.

His brow creases and he frowns, displaying concern and apprehension of is own. He takes a step closer and is so concentrated upon her that he misplaces his steps and hears the crunch of some leaves. Mou stops advancing and watches her the way a crow might watch someone sitting on a park bench, as if he's waiting for something, or he can't make up his mind about what to do. Stay or go.

Finally he huffs a soft, Who..?