Ah, familiar and yet, strikingly unexpected. The thief from Spirane? I was hardly under the impression that I truly might see her again - hoped, perhaps, out of curiosity but never truly expected. At least, not without coincidence. Yet, she sits upon the borders with all the expectation in the world rested atop her dark shoulders. I wonder if that could ever be coincidence.
Her call is what had alerted me and I was unashamed in my swiftness to respond; it resonates with a tone unlike any other that has come to meet the boundary. There is a lick of danger in its execution, its pitch enough to quieten the birds of the forest as I saunter towards its origins. I did not know it was her from voice alone and yet, a part of me had an inkling, a sensation that I might come across something truly entertaining this day. Such a voice could not belong to any old wolf.
So, I find her in silence. I brush against the ferns as they unravel from winter's grasp, the only sign of my arrival as I slip from the shadows to approach her head on. My tail bounces in a lazy arc, my head low and idle in my efforts to assert my rank - she knows, this I know, and I do not foresee disprect in her greeting. If anything, I almost look forward to see what display she might give me this time.
My eyes are hard on hers, unwavering as my head slowly tilts; I assess her simply, once again, noticing her health despite the winter. Smart, I wonder, or lucky? Perhaps the cache's of several packs had found themselves short of a pheasant or two, I wonder. I do not think I would mind. Sneaks deserve whatever it is that they can pull out from beneath another's feet, no?