Dragoncrest Cliffs let me tell you that I saw your boyfriend walking down the street

this got ramble. no need to match the length! <3

'who be you?'

a young woman about saint's own age rounds upon her. gaze sweeps over her, though only the golden eye truly sees in definition and detail while the other shows saint the horrid sights of the world unseen: thick fog and writhing shapes that were unidentified masses.

the other woman is the color of ruddy cinnamon and framed with black on her face.

what a loaded question!

she has been so many things and yet somehow nothing at all. a patchwork wolf. every facet of her is stolen from someone else: the listener, her older siblings, but mostly kremlin whom had been her guardian of sorts, filled with some noble duty to protect her from the world ( if he only knew! ) until she'd abandoned him following the call back to the wilds.

saint. offered simply; like it was less of a name and more of a word sewn to her breast in an attempt to identify her. vaermina. bearclaw. melonii. those names hold more weight to her, cloying upon her tongue ; honeythick. but she does not offer them. they are the names she associates with her older siblings: fanatic and obsessive and unhinged.

though, those traits could be claimed about her too, in all fairness.

who you? she asks in return, feeling the tug of societal pressure to learn about her pack mates. she had a life debt to pay to these women who had welcomed their home to her without question and it was a heavy one; weighing upon her shoulders as if she were atlas in wolven flesh.

another appraising sweep of her gaze is given.