WC: 300+
It was evening, the sun was setting quickly, too quickly, and Colibri did not want to be trapped in the vineyard once night fell. It was nothing superstitious, but rather a nasty memory of the first time she had been there, and the reason she had not returned since. The willowy werewolf scurried between the rows of overgrown tendrils, their wide leaves brushing her face as she swept by them. She had been attacked here, and it soured her stomach to remember the chilling encounter, lit beneath the silvery moonlight. But there had been snow on the ground back then. Times were different now. He never returned to the scene of a crime he'd committed, unless it was to view his handiwork with pride.
The swift Optime slowed her darting pace, forcing herself back to a respectable walk, to slow her racing heartbeat. She was in no danger; this was the heart of their pack lands, and the Rosea's church spires were even in sight from here. She glanced down at the cargo she had been cradling in her arms - several bruised-looking flowers, stems and roots intact. She hadn't meant to jostle them so much, since they were for her garden, after all... Her sky-blue eyes filled with disappointment as she stopped walking, her deft claws inspecting the leaves of the lilies she had "liberated" from near their borders. They would probably recover, if she planted them tonight. And then her soft eyes caught the flutter of movement nearby, beneath the canopy of vines.
There was a little werewolf under there! Smiling gently, the shy girl set her plants down on the grass, before smoothing her silken-brown mane. Might as well look like a respectable adult, even if she didn't feel like one.
"Hello there... I'm Colibri, or Coli! I don't think we've met...?" She settled into a crouch next to the youth, marveling at the cute little dress with the faded spots that seemed to suit her so well. Coli had never worn clothes before, but every once in a while she came across someone that pulled it off well (even if it happened to be inside-out and backwards). The young girl with the pretty golden mane looked upset or confused about something, and concern coloured her expression, wanting to help.
.
.