Blacktail Deer Plateau cake by the ocean

The gentle sun of spring had a large effect on the landscape; the soft heart balkanized the pervasive ice and snow of the flatlands. The newest of the flora peppered the land, created small patches of greens and pastels that clustered around the trunks of trees and spots where the sunlight tumbled through the leafy canopy. The young wolf was extremely glad, for the winter had not been kind to her. She had now been separated from her family for about two moons, she thought, though Kitsch didn’t really know because she had no true knowledge of the moon and it’s phases. She had lost count of the days and nights a long time ago. The terrible storms that plagued these lands disoriented her and smothered her, leaving her starving and distressed. The girl’s figure was slowly filling out as a result of her stint with Teaghlaigh, but the process was slow and she tired of looking at her bony hips and skin that hugged her ribs. Her downy fur did nothing to hide this fact — but at least the oncoming spring brought with it sweet blooms, and these flowers had the power to make her feel special and bright.

But the season was still new and the flowers were still minuscule, so they sat nicely in his thin, pale fur. Kitsch held a single blue floret between her lips and tucked it amongst the fur of her shoulder when she heard the voice.

Kitsch head raised from where she preened herself and looked for the source. The voice spoke words that were pleasing…but was so distinctly feminine. Before her stood a fantastic looking wolf, a melding of greys and black and creams. Kitsch felt as if she were on display, and suddenly felt somewhat silly to be decorated with flowers right then. Kitsch shifted her ermine body to square off with the stranger, but did not walk any closer. The woman’s interesting words were not questioned by the pearl, as a compliment was a compliment and Kitsch would take any (and all) compliments. “Then you wish me to leave your presence?” she said in a lackadaisacal sort of jest, hinting curiously that the strange young woman, too, was a flower.