Why she had decided to stick around this area, Melinoë didn’t really know. She supposed it may be due to the familiarity of humanity that she had come to know through her work. There were few ghosts to guide out in the wilds. Houses and structures usually meant life was bustling and ever active there.

That simply wasn’t the case here.

With the snowstorm that had rolled through the land, it was even more desolate than usual. Sure, she had met a passing face or two, but they were few and far between.

Padding silently along the bridge, the sight of a collapsed structure, perhaps the remnants of a cottage or farmhouse, caught her periphery. Her ears flicked absently as she continued her stroll, not giving it much attention at first. With the floral taint in the air so determined to suffocate the natural scents of the land, she nearly missed the fresh scent of a stranger.

Coming to a halt, the wraith put her nose to work, saffron eyes scanning.

Her gaze initially moved over the great big ball of fluff on the porch before drifting back to it with quiet curiosity. Canting her head slightly, she stared, her eyes neutral.

There was no threat in her stance, only acknowledgement and a stillness that might be disturbing to those who did not know her.