Motion sickness

They'd had such big plans, such...ambition...when they'd turned their backs on home that day. Yet here she was, alone, with no accomplishments under her paw, no plans, not even a glimmer of an idea of what she should do or where she should go. At least in a pack, Praxis had had an identity to aspire to, but out here, on her own, she hardly knew what to do with herself. In fact, for the most part, she didn't. But that place...that place hadn't been home for a very long time, and if she'd gained nothing else from her vow of independence, it was the relief that came with not having to worry about what chaos would greet her whenever she woke in the morning.

So much so that she hardly even blinked at the sight of a stranger anymore. (Surely none could be as unpredictable as the Ashen King?) First she'd heard a disturbance in the water, a ripple and a rustling of the willows' strange branches; then, upon closer inspection, the pale woman spotted a figure gliding through the murky shallows. He wasn't too far off, close enough of course for her to hear him wading through the grove, but not nearly close enough for her to feel any sense of alarm. She slowed to a pause, allowing her limbs a moment to soak as she observed him with dual-toned eyes. Praxis waited patiently for him to settle upon his dry patch of ground before calling out to him.

"Lost?" Sultry was her voice as it carried over the water, but her gaze shone with merely a mild curiosity. Such was the tone of a woman with few reasons to speak of late.

"