She watches.

Stark eyes, abyssal and limitless and yet so much a vaccuus void, train upon the small obsidian minion with an unnamable instensity. Pupiless, emotionless and apathetic towards the small strange creature, yet she regards him with a similarly queer fixation that the boy himself seems to possess as his bright green eyes stare so obsessedly into the ground beneath him. She exudes a gargoylian presence, so still and silent as she observes the peculiar child with his peculiar habit... his paws tracing long lazy circles into the earth at his feet.

So enraptured is he in his artistry that he does not take notice of the eyes that pry into his private world, watching from the shroud of bracken and thistles that grow along the hidden pathways of the forest and offer a coveting veil with which her tempestuous pelt can blend. Golden ears hone in upon the nonsensical garble that spills from his tongue. The sequence of whines and grunts and growls only further peaking her curiosity- and her instincts. Such sounds pull at her predatory nature, her lust for the sanguine. He is young. He is weak. And there is something.... not quite Normal about him. And these three factors alone label him 'Prey'. A cub alone is an easy target, and yet she is not deceived by the fact that he appears to remain in solitude. She has detected the aroma of another female very close in proximity and she suspects there is a den within easy reach of the lone boy as he speaks in tongues and designs his little encryptions. And there are easier ways of procuring a meal than going fang to fang with a raging mother fueled by maternal hormones and instincts to protect her offspring.

Izarra should have written him off and been on her way. But the boy's behavior tantalizes that vague semblance of curiosity her mind harbors. This is a behavior she has not before encountered. There seems to be no purpose to it, nor use from it. Yet, there is a poetry to his actions that offer a simplistic allure. Her eyes are drawn to the circles, the way that they arc and swirl and intermingle from one radius to the next. Seemingly satisfied with his work, the cub stands and begins following the path his paws have outlined for him. Once, his ears flick and he looks about him as if expecting someone or something to step out into the open, and she ponders if perhaps he had been given some sign of her presence. But the moment is fleeting, and before long he returns to his circling... until...

A single viridian leaf falls unceremoniously upon the intricate canvas before him. He stops. Emerald eyes target the frail fauna as it quivers atop the gritty terf. His face contorts into something so subtle, so discreet, anyone less attuned to such minute observations would have missed it. But not She.

Izarra does not know what possesses her to slither out into the path and reveal herself to the boy. She has no reason to interact with him nor interject in his odd little game. Yet she does. Wordlessly dissentangling her exotic bodice from the surrounding shrubbery, her indigo spheres trained upon him before tilting down towards the leaf... and with such a delicate precision, her fangs contract about the paper-thin intruder and extract it from his path, without so much as leaving an indentation to mar his canvas of dirt. One paw reaches forward, blunt nails clasping into the ground rimming the very edge of the largest circle's circumference, and she scrapes out a long squiggling, serpentine tract of earth back towards her body, her violet eyes returning to those of emerald and holding them captive as she gauges his reaction to her joining in his little game.