Swiftcurrent Creek La Bayadere

Making a number of whuffling sounds, Cygnet ambled along the border with her head down, sniffing about for the border markings. A fresh snow had fallen overnight, and it frustrated her; all the work she had done the day previous was covered by a light dusting of snow, and she did not appreciate it. It piled up on the tip of her nose as she snuffled along, occasionally sending it flying with a flick of her tongue or a shake of her head. She meandered about, leaving behind a very visible track of footprints and several yellow spots in the snow from her markings. 

She rubbed her muzzle against a tree and then snaked her entire body alongside it so that some of her pale fur might get caught in the softwood's scratchy bark. She gazed out into the open and imagined enemies coming to storm their home, and that she might be the lone defender. She huffed softly; 

life was nowhere near that exciting, and it was beginning to get on her nerves.

Perhaps there was something to Cygnet's imagination. Perhaps she had some power to will excitement into existence or write enemies into the story of her life. Perhaps it was the will of some other being — one with thumbs, and magics that were yet out of a young wolf's reach.

Whatever the case, someone appeared, coming slowly, cautiously toward borders that had been marked well enough for her to find them. Her coat, the color of slushed snow, stood out from her surroundings only as she drew near — but the scent of a stranger was unmistakable.

Inanna, seeing Cygnet, gave a low chuff in greeting, shrinking herself appeasingly and sweeping her tail at her hocks.

"Hi," she called, still quiet. Still wary of attracting more wolves to her location.  She wanted to see what sort of pack this was before she gained their full attention.

Akavir practically lived on the borders these days—the trace of his mate growing fainter with each passing day, and his concern turning to a stiff resolve. He had to believe she was okay—and that she would come home.

That no matter their fight, she wouldn’t just up and run off.

So when he scented Cygnet along the border lengths, he quickened his pace—Arric’s concerns coming to the forefront of his mind. A task—something to maintain his own sanity as he tried to remain busy.

Pale eyes fell upon the growing youth as she wove around a tree, but it was the distant figure of a stranger against pure white snow that caught his attention—and he slowed significantly, taking the opportunity to not announce his presence and watch—

—waiting to see what their local hellion would do, and hoping she didn’t suck too much when she was at the front of the potential welcome wagon.