Dragoncrest Cliffs Sundown in the Paris of the Prairies

As the sun began to set and burn crimson against the coastline, Chacal finally found her way back to the borders of the place she had once called home. With her, she carried a small, shrub-like plant with its roots still carefully intact and while it was well past its flowering season, it still bore its faint, lavender scent. On her way, she had passed through the moors, and had not been able to pass up the opportunity to bring with her a small keepsake from her birthplace. 

This place, though, was her home too- and like the sea lavender she belonged here. She fretted as she gingerly set the plant down, worried about the questions she might face, and the possibility that she might be kept at arm's length because of her silent disappearance. It stressed her, too, to think she would have to explain herself. 

But the borders smelled of her mothers, of Njord, of home and familiarity- and there was a warm solace that came from knowing they were safe, and still here.

Heart racing, she panted a few times, a whisper of a whine dekeing quietly into her breaths before she summoned the courage to howl. Her howl wavered, the same way the red light of dusk danced on the waves in the distance.