There Is A Train That's Heading Straight

She had decided to go for a run outside the Plains for a bit. Now, she wandered among the willows she and her family had taken up residence in for such a long time. A year, perhaps. Her first litter had been born here. She paused at the mouth of the very den on her mind. Falk had holed up in here after she and Regulus had been swept away on the way home from seeing Erani off into the realm of death. The scents were long stale, now. Rogues had passed through, some using this very den as a shelter. Small mammals had investigated. There were memories here, but none like those she had in the Plains she had been born on, had grown up in, and had fought to defend in the war. There were good memories, here, like Castiel’s return, the birth of her children, seeing her young cousins, and reuniting with Falk. But this had never truly been home just like Nephilim Island had never felt like home when Chrysanthe had moved Valhalla there in hopes of deterring further trouble with Glaciem.

Her eyes turned toward the northwest, in the direction of Atlantis Island. That hadn’t been home either, It had been a refuge, and a secondary choice of resting place for her mother and Uncle. She would have to take their remains back to the Plains, if she could manage it. Bury them where they were meant to rest. She knew precisely where her mother had wanted to be laid to rest. Beside Cairo. As the time had gone by, and Nova’s absence had dragged on, her mother had spoken less and less of the black male that had sired Surreal and her siblings. The death of Cairo, and the day before it, had been the first night her mother had gone to sleep without waiting at the end of the ravine for father. Father. A snort huffed from her nose as her ears flicked back against her head. Despite what she knew from her brother, she couldn’t help the resentment for the black beast that had sired her. For being stupid enough to get in the way of a stampede. For leaving in the first place.

Turning away from the old den, she meandered through the willows, taking in the sights, and smells, and sounds. It hadn’t changed much from how it had been when she and her family had been in residence. The willow fronds were bathed in silver from the moon above in the sky, and her own pelt was dappled in moonlight, guard hairs catching silver under the light where it touched. For the most part, she blended in well with the shadows, and her passage was silent, both from her training, and from the fact that she was familiar with this path. As she came to the point where the streams pooled in a grove of the willows, she slowed, taking stock of what lay before her. The pool was as she remembered it. The stranger sitting beside it was unfamiliar to her however. She paused, still in the shadows, before she decidedly stepped out, mismatched blue and gold eyes roving the male’s frame, from the scarred face and missing eartip to his coloration and markings, and finally to his eyes. Finally, she dipped her head politely. “Good evening, stranger.” Her voice was, as ever, low, gently sensual in a non provocative manner, accented with a unique mix of accents; both Russian and Scots, with a touch of Irish inflection coalescing to make something truly her own.

She regarded him for a moment before lowering her head to lap up a quick drink. The signals were clear; she wouldn’t start trouble if he didn’t. There was a way in her bearing; a precursor to the full carriage she would possess once she created the pack she had been planning for so long. Regal, humble, relaxed, and assured.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think