Thunder Dome The Tale of the White Wolf..

Fate was a tricky thing, she knew. A wolf could hope for the sky in their paws and get drug through the mud as winter snow fell around them while clinging to an elk's back leg. The fate of things was an elk - living, thinking, breathing, and did not want to be told what to do or messed with. It fought, bucked, and wriggled to be set free if one dared try to conquer it. But wolves, like their prey, held a manner of control over themselves that the Alfess couldn't deny - after all, had she stayed in her homeland, she'd be in a loveless marriage. Raising children she never wanted, with a mate that would not have been her choice, and Meylodi had known then her path had better to give her. She'd slain that elk and hungered for another, stalking through the night upon the endless herd her Da called life.

Life gave her an option; like all wolves who thought and breathed, that option had consequences. Such as the nature of things did - actions were never fruitless if one knew how to take them. The life Sirris had lived, however, seemed much more willing to buck than the Alfess' had been; but the wayward elk had led her paws to the pawsteps of those that had come here only shortly before the white fae had. Meylodi was keen that it be the last time the kind Sirris felt so disposable and worthless.

Aye, we be needin' a healer. It ain't every day that one pads up ta aur borders and offers her services, her head nodded up and down, the wind of such a motion making the fur on the sides of her cheeks and running down her neck bounce in the stillness of the night. An' I promise ya, we ain't gonna hurt cha fer gettin' a drink like. I say ev'ry welf be impertant, an' be worthy o' respect, no ma'er what, she rested her chin over the smaller fae's shoulder, a sign of comfort and that, should she agree, she'd never be subjected to such cruelty again. It stung at her heart to hear such sad tales. What kinda le'er would i' make me or me grá if we did tat? Not a very good set of Alfas, a couple of wolves unworthy of the respect of those that saw them in their good light - like that young wolfling from Redtail had so enthusiastically given to her during the meeting on the border. She hoped her own children would see her in such a positive light, hoping to shelter them from the bad while not making them ignorant. Hoped that for all of the wolves that looked up to her. No wolf deserved such sad realities.

Then the Alfess' nicked ear twitched, a sound echoing lightly on the horizon under the moonlight. A scent wafted to her nose, smelling of a wolf without others - a clean-coat that bore no scars upon his snow-white pelt. Her fur never strayed from smoothened, a fae such as her needed no such aggressive displays in the majority of encounters. Meylodi's eyes fell to the ground before her as a huge wolf, matching grá in size, padded into view on confident stilts. His moon-white pelt bounced in his trot; tail held up and in a slight curl. A wolfish grin lay on his muzzle.

Grá wouldn't be pleased with a wolf such as that around his infant pack, but who was Meyl to shoo off a wolf for no reason?

Hello, ladies, his voice slid over her ears as Void's did, spider's silk, a teasing, flirtatious tone on his tongue. What a lovely moon to meet the both of you under.