Spring was swiftly encroaching and still, her season hadn't come. It was stupid to hope. Better that it withered away, that she enjoy her aging in peace. But she felt disappointment bitter in her throat and traveled, this time alone, back along the coast and towards the bay.
Nostalgia led her steps, but when she arrived, it was to find fresh marks on the borders of the lands she'd once claimed. The smell of it curdled in her throat, mingling with the disappointment already there to turn her mood rather sour. She'd tested fate, it seemed, by opening her mouth on their last visit. Someone, somewhere, was laughing over this.
As another wolf came into view, Rosalyn's fur lifted. She and Erzulie had no claim here, and no real plans either... but the thought had remained somehow, maybe, Ironsea could be their home again. Having the possibility snatched from her so abruptly cut deep, and her gaze on the woman who approached was far from kind.
Perhaps it was best she leave.
Rosalyn had come here already in a mood and this was doing nothing to ease it. She wasn't aggressive, not yet... but nothing about her spoke friend. She wondered briefly who she might be mistaken for, but dismissed it... there were no doubt shit loads of russet wolves within these wilds. Her scars would make short work of the difference.
You welcome me as if you own this place,
she answered, chosing to chase this second thread instead. But I do not scent a pack here.
Just a couple wolves keen on setting boundaries.
Bounds they could enforce? Her eye betrayed her skepticism.