Silvertip Mountain Headed towards a fucked up holiday

From the hole crawled a sorry looking thing; a honey and quicksilver girl that looked younger than she, but not by much. The figure crawled from the darkness whence she came and Kitsch’s eyes immediately softened, following the defeated girl as she inched closer and assumed a supine posture, hollow belly exposed. This was prostration was not foreign to the ink-dipped Kitsch, who had seen the bellies of many wolves in her illustrious heyday. She had been royalty, after all — if one of her constituents displeased her, this was a position known to easily soothe her youthful ire. However, seeing such abasement from this girl, here and now — it unnerved Kitsch. Wolves outside her kingdom were not keen on such displays of submissions, but here the feeble girl offered herself so freely.

As evidenced by her time with the woman West, Kitsch had a soft spot for broken things. The pearl had been shielded from these types of somber matters, having been surrounded by only the best and the prettiest and the most vanilla of things all her life. Injuries [especially those resulted from battle and war] were kept quite distanced from her. Hunger might have swept her countryside, but the affliction would never have touched her. Kitsch had never truly known fear neither, allowing her confident and meddlesome nature to swell completely unchecked. She said the word, and someone else swung the axe.

And so existed pretty little Kitsch, totally disconnected from the reality of the world. 

Consequences were so infrequent that seeing such pain, in the flesh, made her wish to assuage the victim’s suffering — it was one of the few times Kitsch found it impossible to hide her concern. “Oh no, no, no” she tittered maternally, entirely upset by the state of the poor girl. It was not long ago that Kitsch herself was adrift amongst the wilds, disoriented and invisible. Kitsch was still lost of course [and harbored a great hope that she would soon find her way back home], but this transient looked like she could use some guidance. Kitsch loved to give guidance. The pearl moved one black-toed paw forward, then the next, and slunk closer to Prialux to close the distance between them. and, if the girl would allow it, would plant a small and sweet kiss upon her pale cheek. 

“What’s happened to you?”