It was like a story. Past the river of fire, through the fields and the rivers that reflected floating firelight, was home. Or, well, somewhere that looked like home, anyway. It lacked the looming trees to filter the moonlight, and in the slowly coming dawn she lingered on the horizon, fat and burning the last of her power into the earth and the water and the mud. Antigone could have wept for joy, her body weaving through the still water and climbing fallen logs with even more ease than she walked on solid ground. She crossed the whole of the marsh in bounds and leaps until she came to it's end, standing on the perch of a broken tree, sundered in half by some force beyond her being there.

She took it all in; the mud between her paws that streaked up her tall legs, the scent of earth and musk and her own perfume, the way the sky colored pink and yellow with the coming of the sun. She could have hollered for victory — she'd done it! She'd found a place the moon had blessed herself! It was quite a feat, though nobody from home could possibly praise her for it now. Instead, she praised herself, to herself, leaping down from her perch and picking her way through the shallower waters to nose about for the first of many trinkets to make properly — moonwashed reeds and waterflowers on a scrape of bark set afloat was a sort of blessing, a sign that you'd found your place. It was a nice, comforting thing for a girl who had travelled so long in nothing but strange, strange land.

In her jaws Portia held a leaf, folded neatly with a single crystal inside for any emergency medicinal purposes-- but the leaf was perfect and ready to wrap all the beautiful herbs that she would find! She wasn't sure exactly what she'd find, but Dio had promised her that this place had plenty of greenery-- and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to find any. She had dragged along the man himself, though @Dio didn't need much convincing, really. He tagged along and went off to do some hunting, but she knew he was nearby. 

Her first observation was the scent of another wolf-- and mud. The marsh had plenty, so that didn't surprise her, but she wondered where the other wolf was. She padded into the area, careful to watch her step and careful not to break the large leaf she held. She stared curiously around her, gazing for herbs that she didn't have. Her attention didn't fall to a plant, however, instead to a woman wading around in the water. Through the leaf she called out, "Hun, you be careful-- you don't know what critters live in there." Her green gaze narrowed, praying no leeches clung to the woman's leg when she emerged. 

Her head lifts out of the deep bank of grass with a sudden snap, mouth half-full of carefully-plucked reeds. The golden burn of her gaze found the source of sound quite quickly — white, and so much of it, too! She'd never seen a girl so moontouched, aside from her own mother and the Moonsister. The strike of black, like a last minute paintbrush had set shadows on her back to cancel out what great power the moon could fill that starlight pelt with, was enchanting. But no, this wasn't Phyrgia, and Antigone didn't guess she was moon-fallen like she had her black-masked jack of trades from Totoka. Instead, she smiled around her reeds and wading toward her previous perch, lighting onto the bark with fishlike ease.

"If they're anything like home's, I should be fine," and she gave a shake of each murky leg, the white and grey in her fur almost brown with mud and muck. Idly, and hopefully subtly (though Antigone was never known for doing anything within even the smallest realm of subtle) she checked for leeches, bugs, anything, before splashing down into the water again, relishing the wet murk beneath her pawpads as she waded forward with lackadaisy ease. "If I could find a leech or two, it might even be good luck." A smile split her lips, and she was about to be good and polite and give her name, but those bright eyes snap down to the leaf in the not-moontouched's mouth, interest quickly superseding manners. "What do you have there?" she asks, voice light and almost childish with intrigue, the tip of her tail wagging.

The woman didn't seem bothered, and Portia's ears perked a bit when the other mentioned 'back home.' "You're from a marsh?" she questioned curiously, green eyes studying the stranger with interest. The Skayona didn't know many wolves who lives in marshes, usually they came from forests or mountains or even valleys-- herself from the latter of the three.

The darker wolf soon questioned her, and she tilted her head slightly. "Amethyst, for emergencies," she answered, tail flicking, "The leaf is for the herbs I find here." With another flick of her pale ears, Portia gave a light dip of her head, shifting her posture to something that would resemble a courtesy-- but wolf-style. "My name is Portia Rose Moreau, I live in a pack northeast of here," she said. Southern hospitality including the introduction-- and Portia rarely went without one of those.