The Princess and the Prince

Satira didn't notice the other wolf approaching her until he was virtually on top of her. She was standing upwind of him, the babbling stream masked his approach, and only the subtle crunching of snow beneath heavy paws caught her attention away from the horsetail. Tira looked up at the strange wolf with a quiet gasp. He was tremendously big, with piercing gold eyes and a coat that looked like he'd just stepped out of living fire. Though he was older, his features were still soft and young; he was still very much a juvenile. Satira froze, both holding her ground and also not entirely sure what else to do. This was the first wolf she'd ever met that wasn't an Armada wolf, although he did smell like other wolves too. Was he from Ashen? Some other pack? Who was he?

Pale blue eyes studied the adolescent with caution and curiosity. She watched him squint, then bring his head down to her level to speak to her, talking to her as if she were some infant in need of coddling. Satira's gaze narrowed with annoyance at the stranger. Who was he to question a Fatalis princess on what she was doing? "That's not really any of your business, is it? And I'm not a little girl. For your information, I'm almost three seasons old," she remarked with a bit of a guarded edge to her voice. Satira considered herself far more mature than her age dictated, and to hear this unknown red wolf regard her as such a child irritated her.

She gave an indignant puff of her chest and gestured to the horsetail plants. "If you didn't notice, I'm gathering herbs for my family. My father's the Armada's lead healer." She said the last sentence very matter-of-factly, as if to drive home the importance of who she was. "And by the way, it's 'where're', not 'where's'. You meant to say 'Where're your parents'. And I'm not telling you. You're a stranger, after all." Although he was easily four times her size, Satira wasn't intimidated by the big red wolf. She'd fought bears and giant snakes with her mother before, and this boy was nowhere near as scary as either of those predators had been. "Who are you anyway, Mister? You don't smell like you're from here."

"Satira Fatalis"