heavy is the head

Rarely did the queen leave her homelands, her refuge, her kingdom, though when she did, one was to be careful in her presence. Sometimes she left her prestigious title behind her and other times she carried it along with her. Today she was still a queen, and certainly walked and presented herself like one. The forest, cloaked in its mist, concealed the other-worldly beauty. The dark, lifeless woods were hers to rule for the day, to explore before returning to her true kingdom. Tall yet young - she didn't need to be reminded of the obvious. It didn't make her any less intelligent, responsible, independent. Somehow it seemed everyone had filled their minds with the misconception that younger canines were simply stupider and incapable of leading a pack than those older than them. She was sick of her pack-mates refusing to take her and her lover seriously, like they some joke, a game. The pack didn't need wolves like those. Either they trusted her, placed their faith in her, or not. Acceptance into Myriad was a privilege, not a right.