It was shaping up to be one of those beautifully poetic mornings, the kind that were so often portrayed in one clichéd movie scene or another; the fantasy, the wholesomely unattainable ideal of the environmental realm. The morning mist, though long ago coaxed into submission by the ribbons of sunlight bleeding through the leafy canopy above, had gifted upon this late morning the barest of springtime chills. But a cool kiss to note what once had been... and nothing more. It was an undeniable shame, truly, that so few individuals had found it within themselves to be lured out into this remarkable and pristine morning; Isolt's attempts to bribe Harley from the confines of their apartment having only known failure this day, leaving the young redhead to take part in her traditional morning run quite alone.



She was undaunted, however, far from perturbed by her presumed loneliness given the mesmerizing aura of Hyde's Park. Company was not a requirement for this particular personal ritual, her only companion today being the timely tempo of her rubber-soled shoes against the cracked concrete and the almost inaudible rhythm of her every exhale. The young redhead runs in silence this morning, her iPod and headphones left in an organized coil upon her nightstand for she hardly required the instrumental motivation this morning. Perhaps it is fortuitous, this simple omission. Surely had Isolt been running to the tempo of whatever upbeat lilting tune that happened to be cooing into her ears, she would have missed the rustling above entirely.



The soft rustling of leaves whispering against one another was a subtle thing, nearly inadmissible were it not for the pervading silence of the morning. However, silence betrays all. And so, the young woman drew to a halt, the soles of her running shoes scraping lightly against the concrete path as the pale blue of her eyes flitters skyward... in the very same moment that a rather large and fur-covered something pounces from the tangle of branches overhead. A gasp rockets from parted lips as the auburn-haired girl nearly loses her footing in the haste to retreat, colliding quite solidly with a chipped and weathered park bench. The mere sight of the creature, with its peculiar markings and suggestion of muscle beneath the wealth of fur, was certainly enough to startle Isolt into speechlessness; but, the words that tumbled in fluent perfection from the canine lips sent her mind careening into a tailspin. In this moment, she thinks of everything and nothing... her mind a paradox of raucous emptiness. This was a dream. It had to be. In what other world besides one of her own making could this possibly be transpiring?



The wolf's words find little purchase within the now nervously fidgeting young woman; to be told that she would not know harm seemed a quite likely assertion any would-be attacker would make. Even as this she wolf reclines, her posture echoing a relaxed nonchalance that Isolt cannot hope to reciprocate in this moment does not see her anxiety lessened in any considerable degree. "But... what...," she stutters, a single delicate hand clasped tightly to her heaving chest. Her tongue refuses to curl about the words she requires, perhaps due to the fact that her thoughts are equally as disobedient. Finally, she manages but a whisper. "H-how is this possible?"