Whitebark Stream The reparation of my heart

A wanderer. Same as her then, perhaps they both stalked the fringes of the world—simply walking on.

She was brought here by gods who cast her to the dirt, false idols once revered disposed of that which was once loyal. That was too reverent an answer, and she was done being any sort of preacher. ...Business. Exile. Pick your poison. She'd let out a low laugh, amused, because still she could make little sense of it, and nonsensical things were oh so funny.

Much as solitude was the path she stalked along, part of her wanted conversation; less so with a man, but hey, beggers can't be choosers and he hadn't exactly done anything to offend her aside from be born the less appealing sex. 

I have come to offer services to the wolves of these lands. Whoever might require it of me. I have a unique skillset, so I'd be remiss not to find some use for it. She remarked idly, her gaze lowered to the paw she let swing from her little vantage. Everything was a game, everyone a player, whether they wanted to be or not. She knew well the illusion of choice.

Meaning waned in the face of solitude, but she didn't know if she was ready fro a home. She would fulfill herself by fulfilling others, first. 

Dutiful little soldier. Even now, when she claimed to have cast it all aside. Dark woman was always running.