Flip the script

She must have dozed off under the warmth of the sun; lulled to sleep by the sounds of the waterfalls across the lake. Only did she stir when the sun peaked out from behind the clouds to shine brightly against closed eyelids. She'd considered turning away from the sun and allowing herself to fall back into sleep, but the reminder of what'd held her attention before she'd dozed off urged her to open her eyes. To blink away the sleep. Expectation was the waterfalls across from where she'd been resting, settled comfortably on a stone settled on the riverbank. Instead, she woke staring off over the river- sleep-blurred vision taking a moment to focus. 

A dark shape sat on the opposite bank, stark amber eyes watching her. 

Her head lifted abruptly, surprise evident on her features. Stirring must have broke whatever interest the creature had in her, though, because in the next moment it was turning away - slipping off into the grasses much the same as it'd done the first time she'd seen it. She almost called after it -to stop it from leaving- but it was gone before she could even utter the first syllable. 

Just like the first time. 

Brown eyes turned to search the area, half expecting the pale shape of her companion to be there. It wasn't, but she wasn't concerned. Instead, she shifted her attention back to the river beneath her, the slower moving water that allowed her to gaze down into the world below. Her toes still dangled there just above the surface and beyond them, small eyes peered back up at her. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. She'd not expected them to be curious of her, really. Frightened, maybe, but not emboldened by their own curiosity to linger close to the surface. 

Forgotten was the dark shape that seemed to be shadowing her. Instead, she dropped her head down to rest between her paws, toes wiggling at the surface of the water. The small fish there darted away temporarily, possibly wary enough that the movement spooked them. But they were back not a moment later, swaying in the current, but staying near enough that she was certain they were studying her just as raptly as she were them. Her tail patted the ground gently, warm eyes flicking from one small body to the next. 

She wondered what they thought of her. Did they know what she was, perhaps? Or did they just see some giant, unknown creature staring at them from a world they found just as unfamiliar as she found theirs.

The questions sat on the tip of her tongue, stuck there with the certainty that they would hang in the space between them; unanswered.

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The world stirred far before what she was prepared for. Even the dull roar of the falls seemed louder now that the sun crested, boldly declaring itself amidst all else. Twyla was never an early riser, too many times and far too long did she dwell beneath the stars to find purchase in sleep when it was preferred. And she did not mind, not when all that she cared for awaited her still. Tearspine had allowed her a moment's reprieve from Fate's Summit, from her impending climb. Greedily, and selfishly, did the acolyte take it.

Though her faith resided steadfast and ever-apparent like a salve over her heart, she was...not prepared. To witness the stars at the highest peak, to bare herself raw in the face of it all—she had much to do still. Too much that occupied her instead. That time was spent discovering Tearspine Heights for all it was worth, resources and views alike. The recent storm seemed to have diminished it none, and something within the woman rejoiced at that. Rejoiced in it still being the same. Even when everything else seemed to change.

The rapids had aided her well in her morning as she slipped between the pines with a limp salmon trapped within her maw. To her left, a fall plummeted with a roar, echoing throughout the forest and splashing her in the soft mist of its greeting. And to her right, another, one significantly smaller and weeping fresh tears into the rapids below. She had not seen the bear she'd glimpsed from her first encounter within the new territory, but the caution remained all the same. Taurenis, too, had been absent, likely traversing back to the home he'd spoken of. Or perhaps he'd found a new one, another mountain to learn about.

In truth, she concerned herself with neither, her attention instead settling on the figure draped comfortably across a water-woven rift in the terrain. Cautious and mindful of the other, still, Twyla didn't press too close, minding her own well-being just as she was the other's space. But her curiosity remained, her attention piqued. Was this a friend of Taurenis' or even greater, Runar's? How many others would truly wander so closely to Fate's Summit?

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So absorbed in her own observation - lost in the sound of the falls and lulled by the warmth of the sun on her back, she failed to realize she was no longer alone. Undisturbed, she continued to watch the fish below the surface beneath her paws. She watched as they watched her. Watched as they interacted amongst themselves. And she watched as they darted off, occasionally, to pluck something from the water column that might have been disturbed by the current as it passed. 

Only did she pull her attention away from them, intending for it to be only momentary, was when the splash of something far larger than the fish she'd been observing sounded some distance away. 

Another larger fish, she assumed. 

Again, she was greeted with the sight of a dark shape lingering near. This one, however, didn't spark the slightest bit of familiarity. Still, curiosity won out over caution, and Bambi watched the stranger with interest, shifting so her paws were pulled closer to her - no longer dangling inches from the surface of the water. 

Noted, too, was the corpse between the teeth of the new arrival. She couldn't help but steal a glance down at the water before she focused attention back on the other wolf; offered up bit of a smile, tail giving a welcoming pat against the ground.

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“Twyla does not think good to swim.” The dark woman would utter after she'd placed her meal atop a rock just a few paces away from the other. Close enough that neither had to yell over the river, but far enough to allow them their space—their comfort. Gentle as the other appeared to be, she did not wish to find herself met with teeth.

And though the thought crossed her, it was not a worry that lingered. No, the woman was more curious than anything—about her, where she came from, if this was home. More knowledge, more wonder, more meetings—Twyla thrived on it.

But as it was, Twyla was the one infringing on the other woman's peace, and though she was curious, she would not go as far as to make an effort for an unwanted conversation.

So they would sit, silent if they so chose, but welcoming the idea that even in silence, they were not alone.

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