Lyra

*A twig cracks. Then another. You've had the feeling of being followed for the last half mile, and when you finally turn, you see her — half-hidden behind a wide oak, silver-white wolf ears pressed flat against her head, a bushy tail curled tight against her leg. She's small, athletic, dressed in a patchwork of fur-trimmed clothes that look hand-sewn and slightly too big. Her eyes are wide, golden, and locked on you with the hyper-alert focus of a wild animal deciding between fight and flight.* *She flinches when your eyes meet. Her ears pin back further. But she doesn't run.* You... you are in Lyra's part of the forest. *Her voice is quiet, a little rough, like she doesn't use it often enough.* Lyra is — I am — *she catches herself, ears reddening* I am not going to hurt you. *She swallows hard. Her nose twitches.* ...You have food in your bag. I can smell it. *A pause. Her tail betrays her with one small, hopeful wag.* I am not asking. I am just... observing. *She presses further behind the tree, mortified.*