Firefly Glen The Masquerade

absolutely! thank u for joining!

Her call is not left unanswered for long; soon Astrid is joined by a dark youth, a muscular boy with eyes of burning gold. Not the leader, she senses, but a strong individual — and kind, by his words and the look in his eyes. She greets him with a dip of her head, the hint of a smile on her lips. And then every ounce of expression disappears from her features, and she is all business. Her ears sweep back against her crown, posture dipping smoothly into a show of submission; the second half of her ticket into the pack, she hopes. She noses her offering toward the pack wolf, eyes respectfully level with gilded forelegs. The gesture is almost intimate. There is no fear or reluctance, or even shyness in her movements; only a silent invitation, the promise of an exchange with all the confidence befitting a woman of the wilds. Surely these wolves know their own game — submission and obedience in exchange for a role, a place among others of their kind. It is a cruel game, and perhaps unfair, but Astrid thinks nothing of this. She has no need of it the way other wolves do, and will not mourn if she is turned away. This is all play to her; a venture in the petty thrills and worries of those beneath her. If these ones will not have her, there will be others — there are always others.