Skill: Bonereader 1/5

She'd retired from Ruathar's presence when the cold crept in. The subtle smell of flowers clung to her pelt, pollen painting vague shapes in stark dances across her fur. She was not so normally perturbed, but it was something about his presence—the words he uttered—that struck her and stuck beneath her skin.

Confusion and excuses bled together until neither one could make headway, further throwing her down a hill of questions she couldn't find her way back up against. A clatter of bones at her feet stalled hesitant steps as they collided with a muddied puddle.

An ear flicked at the whispers that erupted, the hum of something just scraping across the ground as the ripples settled. Oblivious to anything at her back, careless to anything at her sides, and utterly devoid of caution for what lurked beyond her sight, Twyla was immobile. Struck by the sense of ease that came from her mistake. An answer beneath all her questions.

Widened eyes and a curious nose glided across the slick surface of bone, furrowed brows attempting—and perhaps seemingly failing—as she tried to discern whatever message was meant for her within a sporadic form of nature and coincidence.