7/24/2026, 2:13 PM
the chuff reaches her through the hanging flowers. it is not a challenge; there is no sharpness beneath it, no demand that she show herself, but still fa’liya pauses with one shoulder brushing the wisteria, half concealed in magenta shade. her ears angle forward as the male offers another low sound, friendly enough to coax her closer.
tentatively, the girl slips sideways through the drapery, choosing a place where the light reaches the forest floor in thin, honeyed columns. petals drag over her narrow back and catch briefly in the uneven rise of her fur before falling away. compared to the wolf upon the stone, she is slight and unfinished, all small bones and lean angles beneath a pelt too thin to soften them. she stops where the gold touches only her forepaws, leaving the rest of her in mottled shade.
for several breaths, she says nothing. petals have gathered upon his brow and shoulders until the woodland seems to be attempting some gentler disguise for him. it does not succeed. he remains too stark against the gold and red, like night caught beneath flowering branches. one of her ears flicks as she notices his eyes are not of one color. there is youth in his face, though not innocence.
she wonders loosely, curiously, what the spirits would make of him: a dark-blue stranger beneath red flowers with eyes of evening hue. she makes no sound beside breathing, gaze glued to his.
tentatively, the girl slips sideways through the drapery, choosing a place where the light reaches the forest floor in thin, honeyed columns. petals drag over her narrow back and catch briefly in the uneven rise of her fur before falling away. compared to the wolf upon the stone, she is slight and unfinished, all small bones and lean angles beneath a pelt too thin to soften them. she stops where the gold touches only her forepaws, leaving the rest of her in mottled shade.
for several breaths, she says nothing. petals have gathered upon his brow and shoulders until the woodland seems to be attempting some gentler disguise for him. it does not succeed. he remains too stark against the gold and red, like night caught beneath flowering branches. one of her ears flicks as she notices his eyes are not of one color. there is youth in his face, though not innocence.
she wonders loosely, curiously, what the spirits would make of him: a dark-blue stranger beneath red flowers with eyes of evening hue. she makes no sound beside breathing, gaze glued to his.