Porcupine Ridge Seasong saints

Diane was flying, her winged feet carrying her desperately towards the border of the Ridge. She had been on her way back, but now it was pertinent that she make it home— that she surround herself with those she was familiar with— and that the attention her body craved was achieved. It was her first heat, and so she was entirely unfamiliar with the energy and emotion coursing through her, but it had been culminating for a while now, exploding now in an array of jarring scents and secretions. Her body vibrated, making her charge all the faster in the direction of home.

Above her sat the high moon, curved and poised in inexpressive elegance, with purple-gray clouds coiled about it like a veil. Her heart raced, Aztec eyes twinkling as she glanced breathlessly up at the night's silver pendant, her tongue lolling as she continued to run without losing an ounce of her energy. She couldn't fathom where it all came from, but once she realized/learned that this was the fated Heat, she would no longer be confused as to the lightning streaking through her veins or why it had been named so.

When she crossed the borders into Ridge territory, she treated it as if she'd crossed a finish line. Glancing over her shoulder, as if to see what place the other racers had come in, the she-wolf slowed and began to revel in the incredibly safe and triumphant feeling she was left with in that moment. Not an arrogant wolf by any means, Diane didn't understand why she felt so superior and so sure of her hormonal body. Her tail was wagging, fanning, and she began a slower pace in search of the newest stream. She would slate her ballooning thirst for company after she slated her thirst for water.