moonbeam

She heard the birds still and silence for a moment. That was her first warning sign, one that said she wasn’t alone any longer. Her tail remained even with her spine, her jade eyes flashing slightly as she stretched her short, lean frame out. It was clear she was built small, born compact. Her nails gripped the ground as she heaved herself up into the air, ears pricking slightly as she, for a moment, feigned lacking the awareness her upbringing had instilled into her. Instead, she’d shake herself off once more before she could straighten out and turn those almost unsettling green eyes upon the exceptionally skinny woman, her ears politely inclined forward. She would not speak for a few moments, watching, instead with her head tilted slightly toward the right. She was taller than the woman, herself, though she was clearly the younger of the pair on the small island.

But where her fur was the pallid silver of the moonlight she bathed in, her darker spine fading out lightly, this woman was as slender, as fragile as a flower bending in a stormy gust. She was white – true white – with earthen places upon her body, and eyes that almost matched Kuu’s own. She stretched a little more before licking her lips, her ears remaining pointed toward the other woman. With a sweeping movement of her muzzle, marked toward her own scarred chest, she’d blink once before introducing herself.
Kuutamo. Her voice would be soft, a murmur on a dream in the middle of a summer day. But it still spilled between them, a clear invitation to the other woman to speak. To introduce herself. Kuu just refused to offer her surname, it offered too much opportunity for her to be known by others who had heard of it.