The Sentinels it's a cold world

She danced beneath the sweeping canopy of leaves, dappled sunlight warming her dark fur. It was here, in these quiet spaces, that little Emaleth felt most at home; felt that her heart was whole, and that her soul had room to leave the small confines of her body. Perhaps it was the fanciful imaginations of youth, but the dark child could swear she felt the thrum of the ancient heartbeat of trees extend to her, vibrating deep in her bones. She found that these meditations sustained her, and she slipped away to be alone as often as she could.

A howl interrupted the stillness, far closer to her current location than she might have expected. Little Emaleth had a talent for voices, and though she remained distant from her pack mates— especially those that were not of her blood— she thought she recognized the calls of all those that called Donnelaith home. The one she heard now was different, and for a moment she froze, debating whether to leave it for her father to address.

But curiosity overrode caution, and the child soon sprinted to the source of the noise, coming to a halt some meters behind the safety of Donnelaith's borders. She considered the creature with mismatched blue-and-green eyes, remaining silent for the moment— unsure, perhaps, of the protocol required in greeting a stranger.