Swiftcurrent Creek I could be a morning sunrise

Solène had never before had cause to consider her future. It had always been laid before her in no uncertain terms. She would snare Dover as her mate, and rise to Alpha Female alongside him, then depose the male and restore her Uncle Theomund to his rightful place as her advisor. Of course, it hadn't turned out that way, but even after all those plans went badly askew, Solène had been unable to consider the rest of her life as anything more than an abstract way -- eating, breathing, sleeping. But beyond that, she'd been unable to coagulate these necessities of life into an actual plan for her continued existence, and the concept of finding happiness had never occured to the girl. She was satisfied with contendness, as the highest form of happiness that she had ever yet experienced and therefore the only one she could aspire to.

Yet as they say, if you have no expectations, you will never be disappointed, and may, in fact, be surprised. So it was on this morning, when the presence of a small dark female went undetected by the fairer she-wolf until the other rerouted to approach Solène promptly and directly. The two-year-old paused in midstride to observe with emerald eyes the course of the other through the underbrush that clung to the creek's banks, dusted still with snow. The other female's posture was one of calm assertiveness, and instinct found Solène crouching slightly to lower herself, deflecting her gaze off to one side, and governing her tail's previously unrestrained swaying. She was surprised to find that her upbringing in Theomund's gaunt woodland home had not diminished her social instincts entirely.

"New here?" Solène stifled a small smile at the sheer understatement that this was, and replied, "Oui, citoyenne," the pale female said respectfully, her native French spilling easily from her tongue, before she lowered her head in a small show of sheepishness, "I am new to the pack and I 'ave not spoken anglais in some time. You will please forgive me, yes?" The lilt and cadence of her English was still decidedly French and might be seen as charming or obtuse, depending on the listener. "I am Solène de Joie," she introduced herself with a wolfish curtsy, and privately she wondered if she should continue using her surname in this new land. It was a mark of her illegitimacy, and yet she was inordinately fond of it. She glanced at this pack wolf who was still a stranger, curious to know if her reaction might give her some aid to decide if she should simply be Solène.