The Sentinels Mykonos

The lands that the faction occupied were not disparate from her own, save for several things. The sentinels stood strong, just as her own did; but their trunks lacked the characteristic crimson stigmata, dripping and clinging to the bark. Olive had become accustomed to these strange markings and couldn’t help but noting that the forest felt… lighter in their absence. The pack's proximity to the coast afforded their air further buoyancy, carrying a salty, sticky perfume.  The ground scintillated as the light winter air dappled through the trees. Such a milieu was well worth her journey.

The borders were strongly guarded and unmistakable, which allowed Olive to hem the forest in leisure. Without the worry that she would accidentally cross over into their territory, Olive’s mind slowly softened and relaxed. Her joints also loosened in relaxation and her movement fell into a polished, nonchalant gait.  Milky paws barely touched the ground as she traveled and Olive felt completely at ease, her soul bobbing along inside her body as she traveled. To the druid, even the simple act of moving was meditative.

So involved in her task of movement was she that the quicksilver femme did not perceive the conscious life she had stumbled upon. Only the sound of falling water harkened the child, who stood squatted in the dusting of snow - and Olive knew immediately why Donnelaith’s borders smelt so strongly. The fire-kissed girl spoke naught, electing to chuff in greeting instead. Olive beamed towards her, smiling and happy that such innocence had crossed her path. Though but a child, this young wolf was still a member of another pack and Olive would give unto her the respect that position afforded. With a sweep of the neck, Olive bent her body into a graceful bow towards the peeing child, pulling one slender leg into her chest and stretching the other out in front of her.

“Greetings, tiny Donnelaith woman.”