Lion Head Mesa chardonnay or bordeaux

Had her nerves not been aflutter, the she-wolf would have likely been in awe from the route they traipsed. Into the stalwart Mesa, a chamber was where she was led, and briefly, her eyes shifted to study Reyson, pulling her attention away from the rather grand interior that surrounded her. In that very moment, she longed for a forest—how one could live within the walls of caverns was beyond her.

Her expectations were completely void in this moment—requested to be within, at first, Meadow had assumed the guards of their home were only looking to interrogate the stranger at their borders. What she hadn’t expected was to be practically delivered to a regal looking creature who’s eyes were the brightest she bore witness to, and who looked to her like she was but a pawn on his master chess game.

It had to be her imagination, that last part. Surprise wrote itself upon her copper features, a stolen glance to Reyson as she already could surmise exactly what he would think of that—and a gentle touch of her muzzle to his shoulder—to ground him, lest he say something he regret. She knew his thoughts of this place, and she could see why unfolding before her.

This wasn’t quite the evening she had planned to steal a moment of Reyson’s time, but for now, she could play a gracious guest, and with the deference of innocence, she bowed her head down further, waiting to see what the purpose of this was.