Stavanger Bay Flower In The Wind

The sea took her attention from the ring of black for a long while, and eventually her little eyes fell on the shape, bobbing and weaving in the water. She didn't know what it was, of course, until the Blackrock wolf had padded to the shore and shook out a coat as unique as her own. Cooing softly in amazement towards the beast who skimmed the ocean, Witch allowed him to come close. 

His deep voice, somehow not as soothing as Cas', washed over her like a wave, and the red saddled girl nodded to show she understood. Donnelaith, she'd come to think of as a home, the mighty trees that guarded her as Castiel did and the crashing waves that captured her soul. 

The word "borders" was new -- the pudgy flower knew the scent marks very well, knew that one was not supposed to cross them -- going in or out -- unless somebody was with her. Why, she didn't know, unaware that as she aged, this rule would fade. "Home" however was something she knew very well, and this new fact brought her brow furrowing. If Donneliath and their ancient trees were her home, how, too, was the bay? 

                           "Two home?"

She stood tall beside the rocks, eventually reaching out to sniff at one, even going so far to prod it with a dainty paw in curiousity. After the deep inspection of this rock, her faintly changing eyes set up at the multicolored man. 

                                                           "You?"

After a moment, she seemed to remember vague manners, intoducing herself, as well, with a beaming smile and a wiggle of her entire body.

                                                                                           "Witchhazel!"