If she were being perfectly honest with herself, she would've admitted to having chosen Valhalla simply because it sounded pretty. The she-wolf acted as if she cared about the pack's structures and morals, but in the end it all came down to the scenery for her. Hey, if she was going to be spending the rest of her- hopefully- long life in a pack's territory, the least she could do was make sure she'd enjoy the view. After having spent the majority of her life thus far at home, trying to decipher right from wrong via trial and error, Feral was all too eager to visit exotic places. Exotic meaning she'd settle for anywhere but home. Not even remotely close to home, preferably. The darkly hued youth had been traveling for several days, a journey that would've gone a lot quicker if her nearly healed injuries hadn't slowed her pace. While the gashes had long since closed over, the scarred flesh was still tender not only to the touch, but to the movement of the muscles below as well. Each step was a test of her tolerance for pain, and thus far, she was passing with flying colors. "Home sweet home." she mused as she neared the border of Valhallah's terrain, orange orbs taking in every detail in a manutian manner. Her parent's had failed her in the 'life lessons' department, so the she-wolf relied on instinct alone as she came to a stop a respectful distance from the scent markers and let lose a holw. Her call rang out for all to hear, starting out as a low alto before steadily building into a melodic soprano. Once satisfied that her request for audience had been made, she shifted her paws into a more proportionally balanced stance, tail slack and ears pricked. Her body was practically humming with energy as she waited for what was to come next.

Chrysanthe's ears perked at thes ound of a call near the borders. She waited a moment, wondering whether one of her brothers would want to answer this one, but when neither of their voices came she responded to the stranger herself. The beta lifted her head, howling to the other lupine and quickly telling her that she wouldn't be alone for long and someone was coming to see what she wanted. Perhaps not quite what the other was expecting, but all would be revealed in time.


On Chrys's part, she would come face to face with a female not much older than her, and was around the same size too. And the most noticable part about the other female, were her scars. What had happened for her to get so many? She had thought that she had quite a few for someone her age, some scrapes and knicks around her face and on her legs from sparring and fighting. Yet this female was covered in her battle scars, and the yearling was incredibly curious as to where she had gotten them. "You called?" The princess spoke, a small smile on her face. She did her best not to stare, because she wasn't one for being rude right off of the bat. "And, if I may... are you alright?" Her head tilted slightly with her question, and she wondered whether any of her current wounds were more fresh than the others.


"I'm Chrysanthe Adravendi - a beta here." If she needed anything, she could speak to her. The girl could give her placement in the pack, but couldn't award her with ranks higher than basic tasks. And as this yearling was new here, should she want to be accepted that was probably what she would get.

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He had honestly been fairly busy across the lands as he was being asked to do by his superiors. Valhalla would one day be his, and he knew that playing games all the time would only cause problems for his future and everyone around him. He had a lot to learn to become a king, but fact of the matter was, he was learning, and answering calls at the borders was at least one step he could take and take with ease. His masculine form would ascend beside his sister?s body and his azure gaze would linger over the darker, scared, woman with scrutiny. Why was she so terribly wounded? He wasn't exactly a sight for sore-eyes but, she...she was...well he wouldn't voice was she was, for it was not very polite.

His sister seemed to speak all the words that really needed to be echoed and the russet lord would nod his head in simple wonderment, agreeing her questions were viable, and more than that the young girl before them would surely answer them or she could leave. Valhalla had little time to waste and he didn't plan on drawing something out all day


"Speech!".

Well, that had gone easier than expected. A response to her call had cut through the air with an efficiency she could appreciate. At the very least at least one of Valhalla's occupants knew how to get work done. The duo that came before her were similar in more ways than one, leading the she-wolf to believe that they could be related, possibly even siblings judging by how close they looked in age. The female recited some generic courtesies, among them being her name, rank, and an inquiry about her pretty little decorations. Feral had to suppress the urge to smirk. While most females would find the notion of carrying to so many scars unfortunate, she relished in them. They were constant reminders that she's survived, thrived, and made it to where she was without being broken. Granted, the majority of her scars had been given to her by her own mother, but with each wound Feral had come closer to the conclusion that she could only rely upon herself in this world; she was an independent sort of gal now, and proud of it. Orange orbs flickered from one yearling to the other, never leaving their stoic forms as she dipped her head in a respectful greeting. No need to tarnish her first impression because of bad manners. ""I appreciate your quick response, Chrysanthe," she began, the new name foreign on her tongue. "I'm assuming you're referring to my scars? No need to worry your pretty little head, I'm quite well. They healed up days ago, just giving me a bit of phantom pain is all." Now then, time to get down to business. "As the beta of Valhalla, I do believe you have the ability to give me what I seek. Acceptance." She knew she was being painfully blunt, but she had never been one to butter things up to more than they were meant to be. Oh, she could sing a pretty little tune when the need arose, but why beat around the bush when she could cut straight to the chase? It unsettled her, standing on the wrong side of the border, her fate in the paws of two strangers. The sooner she was brought into the fold, the sooner she'd be able to relax.

She waited for the other to respond, watching her, azure eyes idly gazing at the other yearling's face. Chrysanthe didn't see the other's scars as unfortunate, but wondered just where they came from - surely, each had a story. And the tales couldn't all be glorious battles either - some looked personal, downright nasty. Yet she couldn't ask about the dark lupine's battle wounds, not first thing.


A part of her worried that her brother on the other hand, wouldn't be so polite as to continuously hold his tongue.


Syrinx appeared moments before the girl could tell her what she wanted, and she reacted to her brother immediately. A subtle greeting would be offered to her brother, a pull in her lips and the gentle sway of her tail - and then her attention was on the female once more as she began to speak. Apparently her scars were not recently earned - but phantom pains - that was not something that the yearling herself had seen or heard of herself.


Acceptance. That was what this girl was here for - and Chrysanthe was a bit surprised. With this many scars so soon, would she be trouble to Valhalla? "I can give you what you want, miss. But I need to know a few things first." If she was going to let her join this pack, what she really wanted to know was whether or not she would abandon Valhalla. She was tired of inviting others into her home, and having them turn away or disappear or worse. "You're young, but so are we." And Valhalla was practically theirs. They were being trained, adults in mind and body, but room to grow through experiences alone. "What are your skills? What can you bring to this pack?" If she didn't have any - then she could be trained - but Chrys had the sneaking suspicion that she was quite the warriess.


"And are you a temporary member? Or do you plan on this becoming a permanent obligation?" Chrysanthe didn't immediately expect this stranger's loyalty and trust - but she wanted her to stick around long enough to understand the group she was willing to become a part of - and tell them if it's not for her should the time come. "We don't take well to coming and going in terms of loyalty. But should you respect us, and the rules here, then we will do the same for you, miss."

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His talking, or lack thereof, was only customary. Syrinx was, by nature, a quiet man that saw little in speech, and most of what life had to offer being offered in actions. He was exactly that character. Nose wrinkled as his sister spoke her questions to the vagabond female and he turned his head towards her more sharply, his skull rising in wonderment to the little babe, ?Do we get to know your name...ooooooor? I?m Syrinx, heir,? he was quick, to the point and indifferent as to the musings at hand. Muscular thighs would twist to go towards the ground and the hellion would offer nothing further except a sharp gaze of scrutiny. Loyalty was not something he took lightly, it was a powerful thing, and if there was a doubt in her mind it would sway with her joining the pack, he would simply have to chase her off, and the young man would have no doubts about doing so. Shoulder rollings back, grotesque features glaring at the woman, he would commit to silence and allow her to answer the questions that his sister, -the beta-, had asked of her.



"Speech!".

After having lived a life revolving around the wellbeing of an inadequate brother, Feral found the sudden influxe of conversation compelling. Granted, the majority of the words spoken were in the form of questions, but her socially-deprived mind would take what it could get. "I like to think of myself as a self-taught Jack of all trades." she began with a lopsided smirk. "I can hunt, I can track, but there's nothing I like better than spilling blood. I'm fairly good at it, if I do say so myself. But as you said, we're young. I still have room to grow and improve." She considered mentioning her complete lack of an authority figure up until that point, but in the end decided against it. No need to give them reason to question her ability to take orders. Chrysanthe's inquiry in regards to her loyalty gave her sudden pause. What was loyalty, exactly? She'd never felt the need to stay true to her parents, their lack of influence having soured her opinion of them in the early stages of her life. The bond she'd shared with her brother had been based mostly on pity and the duty of one sibling to another; he was her kin, after all. Could that be considered loyalty? The she-wolf hadn't a clue, seeing as how the courtisy had never been extended to her thus far. Perhaps, and if not, it was surely the closest thing she'd ever experianced to the term in question. Her next words were chosen carefully. "There's nothing left for me out there," Her darkly hued head inclined towards the vast and unclaimed expanse behind her, orange eyes narrowing every so slighty. "No kin, no friends, nothing to give me reason to return to the way things used to be. If you allow me in, I'll have no reason to want out... unless one is forced upon me. And even then I'll fight it tooth and nail. I don't much fancy living a life without a purpose." Not exactly a poetic explanation, but it would have to do. Had she truly forgotten to give her name? How odd. Her brother had always known, and strangers had never asked. Only after a moment of mental debate did she realize that it would be nessacary. Packmates addressed each other by name, didn't they? "Name's Feral, but you can call me what you like. I have no preference." Her eyes never left Syrinx's as she spoke, orange grating against the brightest teal she'd ever seen. Before her stood the heir of Valhalla, every bit as youthful and unpredictable as she was. If she'd known who he was, maybe she would've tried acting a bit more proper... who the hell was she kidding, no she wouldn't have. Authority meant nothing to her; respect was earned, not entitled. As far as she was concerned, he was a reckless brat, just like every other yearling out there, herself included.