Dragoncrest Cliffs canadian cold, canadian cheer

Sapphique.
A handful of days; days of learning scents, of familiarizing herself with the land of the oceanwolves. Maleah feels awkward, as if she's barging in on a door accidentally left unlocked. These wolves hold so much love for each other, and there is so much history beneath her feet, and now she is part of it. Part of something much greater than she.
The air is heavy, quiet, and she wonders if it is always this way.
The marble settles into a slow pace, traversing from the wildwood to the miniature flatland that sits almost central to camp. Here, she would hunt for the beginnings of a supply stash. She is meticulous as she examines every flower bud, every root, every patch of moss; the condition it's in, how long ago it may have sprouted; the gender, the color, the species.
And she needed to be! For now, it was not just in case of an emergency; she had a job here. A duty.
A calling.