late for the love of my life

When Desolate stumbled upon the elder woman in the plains, his first instinct was that she was not where she was supposed to be. He'd never seen her before, and that made her an intruder. He stood a distance away, staring down the back of her head and trying desperately to convince himself to attack her, to defend Abaven. So far his fighting lessons were, well, few and far between. He didn't know how to take on a larger wolf, only sparred with Void and played tag with Theory.

She seemed old, really old. Even Desolate could tell from just the way she carried herself and the way her fur lay upon her back. Did that change how you were supposed to attack them? Was it rude to chase away a really old intruder? His brows furrowed as he thought, and with a heaving sigh he instead wandered cautiously up to her. "Excuse me?" The near-yearling called politely to her as he got closer. "This is Abaven's land, I don't think you're supposed to be here." Oh, damn, maybe she was just so old that she'd gotten herself turned around. Desolate's teeth clicked audibly as he considered it, and he added after a beat. "Are you lost or something?"