Murc draws a breath in acknowledgement as he still has yet decided to move from the place in her path, large head swung over a single shoulder to ponder what the woman was doing in the forest alone when she could happen upon anyone...anything He exhales slow, her scent a mental capture of autumn leaves, a musk that was between the last tendrils of summer essence and promise of decay.
He shifts to the side with the longing pull of thick legs, thudding his weight in place so the dark woman could pass. Lavender-grey eyes do not waver, however, but stay watching her from the thickness of a matted forelock. She is a special thing in this world of plastic and false prophets. The man does not smile but merely parts the whiskered and cracked lips to utter a low word. "Murc." He taps the broadness of a scared chest as he gives her an introduction whether she wanted it or not. It is his name and she could do with it as she wished for they are but to passing bodies in the thickness of a rogue forest that was currently being enveloped by a late winter.
Murc does not notice the first fall of fat snowflakes from a grey sky as they soon nestle on his rump and name...a few pale blemishes upon a sooty coat. The world was cold enough already with the blanketing of snow that it soon promised but nonetheless, perhaps this woman in the embrace of a tired forest could be a jolt to a frozen heart and long dead hope.
MURC
just as i can be so cruel