Moonspear Crooked spoons

Shandra had once been called a Starchild, but her brother  and by her mother. Her father, the bitter fuck that he was, could care less about her interest in the stars, but that was irrelevant now. She did not know what being a "Starchild" meant, only that she felt a close affinity to them, and that they brought her comfort. Such was the case as she waited -- impatiently -- for her call to be answered.

finally, such an answer came, in the form of a grizzled and pale, freckled man, perhaps middleage, although Shandra was not the best judge of age, as evidenced by her choices in men. This man, obviously a leader by his display of dominance, did not speak, but merely huffed  a wary greeting. Assuming all the elements of a submissive position, Shandra  made spotty eye contact, her eyes shifting to and from from his piercing green gaze.

"My name is Shandra. I... want to join this pack."  Her words were blunt and to the point. She was not a woman of frills and pleasantries.