Fairspell Meadow I told the witchdoctor

ousted from her birthclaim by the fresh settlement of a new pack in blackfeather, astara longingly lingered the fringes. her eyes were ever turned inward: she thought of relmyna most, her spirit somehow intertwined at the altar — and wondered what her mother would have thought about the takeover.


resting under the fanning tail of an evergreen, astara shifted in the shade as a flame-drop wolf passed by her vision. the girl noticed his attention was drawn within the depths of the pack; her tail flicked possessively, but she made no move to intercept him. after all, it could hardly be called her home anymore, and she was just a vagrant shade that cursed its’ borders.