Heron Lake Plateau triple shot espresso

Here a pack could, in theory, flourish under normal circumstances. The waters and nearby forests would provide the perfect landscape for animals alike to gather—the wolves would take advantage, respecting them enough to not turn gluttonous, but alas, she could see pups frolicing in the open fields, protected by their guardians. Among them a few redheads, she hopes.

Her entire journey from Hunter’s Slope focused on creating her own dynasty, and Diaspora is a step in this all. She cannot run alone, and with a pack that focuses on survival at its core, she sees a life here for awhile. Ears flicker, however, taken from her surveilling and daydreaming at the rustle of footfalls upon the stoney walkway, and a beckoning cough.

Pale blue eyes land upon the black-phase wolf, frost touched by grey at a young age similar to Mahler. His tones warmer, however, with less blue. Lemon yellow eyes. Mhm. Annaliese arches an eyebrow.

Unlike other men in these Wilds, he’s got… some confidence to him, approaching her with words and with intentions clear.

Little? She asks. Perhaps she has thinned, losing weight with the famine and travels further. A chuckle escapes her lips, and she places a paw to her chest briefly. I guess you could say I’m looking for a place of my own, for Diaspora, but he doesn’t need to know that right now. You got a better place?