What is she to do? Her mind says to run in the opposite direction - to pivot and sprint until her legs fail - and yet every other part of her, that parts that are
truly her, insist that she keep pace with him. She cannot deny it and so, she merely gives in, her legs moving without thought as they begin to mirror the very stride of the man before her. She moves in such a way that seems to complement him entirely; when he ducks, she ducks, and when he weaves, she weaves with ceaseless grace. Still, she cannot help but question his very existence, unsure as to why it is now that he has come to find her. If she had avoided the darkness and the caves, would she have avoided this? Or was such a thing inevitable? Had her sadness been felt by the universe, his presence sent to her in one way or another to fill the holes inside her very soul? Some sick cosmic joke where she was destined to be the punchline. So then why did she feel so free?
His howl is the thing that truly shakes her; she feels her fur rise around her like a halo, intrigued and cautious and yet so very on edge. She feels her skin prickle and her blood warm as his voice bites her ears; her eyes watch him so intensely, absorbing all that he is as she breathes him in deeply all the same. He smells of pines and dirt, of musk and fresh air. He smells like all the things she has craved, needed, felt drawn to without purpose. She knows no other word for it: he smells like purpose.
He speaks and she feels drawn closer, her paws tentatively creeping over the loam and leaves; she is like a predator now, eyes wide and yellow, hungry and intense as he speaks in tongues. "Sola stella," she lilts back, a language she has not used in eons it seems and yet, her very soul demands she reveal such a thing about her; she bites the words back though with a click of her teeth, brows furrowing once more as she moves to correct herself, "a wolf, a star, a leaf in the breeze; all things inconsequential, easily lost."
He steps forward and as their noses come to touch, she nips at him; she tests him, warns him, her desire to be close and yet far spurring an unusual response. Nonetheless, it is a gentle thing as she nips at his muzzle, her head swinging low in defence after as she takes a cautious step back. She furrows her brows at the word witch, a quiet huff of disagreement as she straightens up once more, her father's arrogance suddenly hot in her blood. "You ask of me and yet you do not reveal yourself. You are more a witch than I, are you not?" She frowns lightly, her eyes flickering back to their meeting point beyond the forest. Had he not summoned her? Had he not made her run while she did not desire it? To chase? To stand close and breathe him in deeply even now?
In an instant, she lurches aside and several steps, coy and fox-like in her delicate movements as she tests him; she wonders if he will be drawn to follow. Not once do her eyes leave him, probing and hungry as she waits expectantly now. Perhaps she will discover what he is another way.