Blacktail Deer Plateau shoot down the moon, straight through the sky

The woman reappeared on the scene, no worse for wear but decidedly different. It was clear in everything but her still-ashen pelage, in her demeanor and her walk, to the look upon her face and the curious swish on her plumage. Her entire mien now spoke of Starbelly, not the Indie of yesteryear. Indie was loud and sometimes crass, but Starbelly was distinguished and refined. Indie used her sensuality to ensnare others, while Starbelly was so far above them that any possibility was rendered... irrelevant and uninteresting. Indie came from nothing, was nothing, would be nothing, while Starbelly veiled her past in nonchalant segues. Indie was gone, but Starbelly was here.

Sometimes it scared her; how easily she slipped into the skins of others and could adopt behaviors that soon seemed natural to her. The chanteuse assumed it was the actress in her — the part of her that she would staunchly deny now, but would never truly fade from her soul — that was to blame for this; but when life did not work out as planned, it was always comforting to have an escape route. The woman was too smart not to have one.

The woman needed a home; needed to be around others of her kind. Never before had she entertained this impulse, but Indie was solitary and Starbelly was social. Suddenly, the woman found herself craving the company of wolves she had never met! So after a brief interlude away from the coast, Starbelly found herself nearer once more — and she began to search for the telltale scent of packlands. When one was scented, the dark woman located them upon the plateau and threw to the wind a howl so silken and vivid that it may have been the only vestige of the raconteur that once inhabited this body. 

and then, she waited.