Northstar Vale Wandering Child

"I am beholden to your graciousness" Prophecy replied, her voice but a hush. Undómiel; a word that had never touched her ears before this eave. Their leader, she supposed, one who carried excessively superior poise and care to that of her old Star-speaker, whom she had believed she had been born to serve. Incorrectly, the she-wolf thought with a prick of sorrow, for she was now so far from her summit that it'd be impossible to write whatever destiny her mother had written into her now.
"This mind is mine for carving..."
Only one other wolf had said similar, and the bafflement had not left the cream-and-white female - if she were not who her mother moulded her to be, then what?
For once she had danced with the idea of breaking from her rose-thorned cage;
And then the moon dyed red.

With a delicate dip of her head, Prophecy finally stepped from the vigil in which she had stood since her arrival, her soft- silent paws disturbing not a rock nor pebble as she followed behind the moon-coated she-wolf at a distant pace. Her viper-green eyes drew themselves to the sky, blinking with such lightness as flakes of snow tickled her obsidian lashes. A new moon with new snow...

A new Prophecy.