Sleepy Fox Hollow golden threads of the craftsman's loom

Gin had never truly met someone who was so full of spirit. She had been taught to know her reservations and only show emotion when it was truly necessary. This coywolf was different, but not in a bad way. The dark feral thing smiled softly at the mention of the golden creature’s home. She turned her attention toward the glimmering mountain and thought that it was an appealing landmark. It didn’t surprise her that it had been claimed by a pack of locals. Something in her paternal lineage stated that rocky slopes were an ideal location for a home. She couldn’t have spoken to that, but she always felt it.

“I don’t really live anywhere,” she answered after a moment of thought. Then, the shadow pulled her attention away from the stone structure and focused it back on the shimmering soul who stood before her. “I’m new here,” Ginsberg then elaborated with a light shrug of her shoulder. She wasn’t sure how to explain that she was essentially a vagabond with no direction. The wild shadow just went where she felt she needed to go. What more was there?