Thunder Dome Thymós

When the scenery had shifted to something familiar, an emotion pooled in the wolf’s belly.

Antigone looked down from the mountain to the edges of what had once been Epoch. It was not likely that his parents were still there. He hoped that they were gone, anyway. It wouldn’t do him any good to see them, he knew this much. He did not want to see them, if he was forced to be honest about it.

Russet ears swiveled back. The wolf adjusted his course and aimed himself north. The land there would not serve as a reminder of his past. Setting out at a brisk trot, Antigone moved to climb down the mountainside.

sorry not sorry...

Lavender sprigs were held delicately in the coltish girls mouth—her steps were quick, surely, but there was always something to see that the journey had taken her longer than she had promised. Surely her mother would understand though—but when she felt the shift of wind and the drop in temperature, she knew enough time had passed to stir worry, and so she would became more direct with her steps…

… Until from the corner of her gaze she caught sight of a masked wolf—navy eyes peering to the distance and a gait that held purpose. She hummed softly—considering—and then shook the urge to stop and chat.

He didn’t seem overly approachable, and so with a flick of a darker ebony ear, she widened her berth around him, honeyed eyes casting stray looks toward him as she continued toward Raventhorpe.

The navy blue of his eyes found the slate-colored girl - her ears darkened by charcoal. She did not look like any member of his family or the other wolves he’d left behind. The fluttering butterfly wings of fear that had erupted in his belly were soothed. She looked to him, contemplative, and then continued to march along her route.

Antigone’s pace slowed just enough that he would keep a few steps ahead of her. The herbs she had gathered in her mouth were sharp with smell. He knew them to be lavender and he wondered if she had found an adequate place to collect them.

You even know what that’s used for?

The young man’s voice was rough and sharp. His dark eyes crashed down on her like dangerous waves on the sea. Antigone wanted to test her, wanted to see if she even knew the value of the items she carried.

She might have been keen in putting up a facade if simply slipping by, but it might have been obvious to a simple observer when the man called out to her—noticing her—and what she had decided was clearly a good deed.

She slowed her pace—a cheeky flash of her eyes roving over him before a shrug was given—as if she had all the experience in the world, and not just Meadow’s words to go by in this very moment: ‘can you collect mama some more of these lavender sprigs? I need them to help with some muscle aches and headaches’, she had shared with her only daughter.

She would have have informed the inquirer as such with the bundle in her mouth if she didn’t fear her feminine vocals being completely muffled—after all, she was a lady now, and as such, plopped the lavender at her paws, perhaps in a more unlady-like manner than intended. “Headache,” she beamed, an arched brow and hip cocked his way.