Seaside Moors magritte suit

a routing of foxes; erzulie's teeth clipped the tail of the last, coming away with a mouthful of changeling pelt. spitting it into the coldbit plants beneath her paw, the jezebel watched from her empty den as the long grasses shifted, bringing first the sound of wolftone and then the scent of a stranger.
her stalk was long-legged and curious; she drew up to a halt with her mismatched stare pinning toward the newcomer. he was not tall, but it mattered little beneath the clear strength in his figure. winter upon the horizon, and rusalka in need of hunters.
"you have foun' rusalka," she greeted, voice clear and inching toward inquisitive. what he chose to say next she awaited with an inscrutable expression, observant and softly intrigued.