Lion Head Mesa girl with crimson nails has jesus 'round her neck

While Mírwen prided herself for her self-taught preservations and street smart antics, the travel to desert palace had not been as easy as she had hoped. Germanicus had told her of a kingdom that all but ruled the flatlands—his brazen suggestion that if she were to escape the clutches of her old pack, it would be best to do so here.

The idea of trading her unclipped wings to another cage, even if gilded, was something that left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Yet there was a certain desire in the youthful woman to do right by the wandering solider—loneliness had shrouded the man, particularly in the silence of his death. Surely, someone should know he was now beyond them all—and he had spoke of this place as one he had given protection and honor to.

If they merely scoffed at the news she would come to deliver them, she knew then she could never stay.

She had bathed herself—a child of the forest and bountiful waters, she ensured her pelt remained at the finest of ivory—the strip of ebony perfectly set upon her crown. So when a perfectly trim paw met sand and sank for the first time, it was a frown that marred her features for a stolen moment.

And then, telling her inner hesitation to GTFO, she purposely began to stride forward—albeit stopping as she looked for any tell-tale scent markers to lead her along the way to this alleged great kingdom.