Moonspear lofticries

Her aching limbs pained her. She was growing, unbeknownst to the young wolf who still indeed looked young. Lyra and her sisters were only just now entering their awkward phase and would have to get used to ungainly legs and growing pains. Not only physically, however. Ever since her encounter with the three strangers at the borders, she thought a lot about the two women with their dainty frames and soft, pure coats and felt a tinge of jealousy — though she wasn't sure what the emotion was called.

Lately, she had been trying to keep her fur just as pristine. It was hard, when Hydra and Alya were so insistent on pulling her into their shenanigans, but so far she had managed. She sat now outside the den in the sunlight, preening as ever. She tried to be delicate, graceful like the two white-furred woman, though she was anything but. With rough strokes, the girl ran her tongue over her side, trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn patch of dirt that marred the fur there.