At dusk his attention is drawn by a glimpse of white through the trees. A breath drawn and a taste of the air bringing him a scent he has run across a few times. Tunnel is impressed that nothing has eaten her yet, or savaged her and sent her bleating back out into the meadow. The mothers of Beqanna are remarkably inept, to keep allowing their pretty little children to go lost and frightened into the dark. How stupid they must be to let their precious things go astray.
The forest is vast but he has seen her in the months she has drifted a pale spectre in the trees. As much as he might be bothered to he wonders how it is that she persists out here alone, what equips her to survive childhood in the forest without a parent or a guiding hand of some kind. He does not interfere with lost youngsters often, many do not suit him. These trees are full of the hungry and the deviant who might be more interested in a little white filly than he. After all he usually has enough to keep him busy with Shroud alone.
He once again notices the quiet with which the child moves, deft enough to be a shadow except for the way she practically glows against the earthy tones of his home. Tunnel slides through trunks to intercept her, low branches sliding whisper-quiet over his strong back until he places himself squarely in her path, broadside angled to face the yearling girl. “You’re still alive. Why are you still out here?” Tunnel is not inclined toward curiosity often, but he has bothered to come inspect the child face to face so he might as well ask a question.
@[Aislyn] ugh sorry he is being difficult
