The Tangle The stick, the thorn, the briar

Somewhere in the north, though not terribly far away at all, Razo Redefin was cursing the life choices of his beloved spawn. She had practically been his favourite until shortly before her first birthday when she had revealed that she simply couldn’t wait to romp her merry way away from home, and Razo still couldn’t decide whether to be put out or downright proud.
 
She was days away, then, and essentially a blazing beacon against the dull, rocky expanse of landscape she was picking her way carefully across. There was really no hiding here, and certainly a nil to zilch chance that she might be able to change gears at a moment’s notice, but she smiled astutely. Much like a lighthouse through a veil of fog, other ships might note the perils and steer clear into easier tides to avoid the sharp and unforgiving rocks that waited in the shallow tides — those that jutted, and those that would never advertise their presence. It was a good thing she herself had inherited those uncanny Redefin genes, and that she was all confidence to the point of arrogance and beliefs of invincibility. It was difficult to watch her sure and nimble steps, however, and not notice the light her movements shed on her entire outlook on life.

She was out to chart new lands and soak in all the experiences she could carry like a sponge carries water before it becomes saturated to excess. Fenix wanted to be like the sponge, and so unlike her dear father, whom she loved and would always love even with kilometers and vast lands of distance between them, she did not actively avoid the company of others. She sought them out. While the rocky, sparsely vegetated wasteland made it seem otherwise, it was actually the closest she could get to the packs she had sensed without treading so impolitely all over their doorstep. In the meantime, she fixed her gaze on a small body of fur that moved not far off to her right. She knew how to keep herself occupied.