At That Age

Satira couldn't help the proud grin she wore when her mother applauded her ability to fend for herself and threaten off anyone who would dare try to make her feel lesser. She knew she wouldn't always have her mother around, but just knowing Asla was in her corner if she needed the backup was incredibly reassuring. She didn't want to have to rely on her mom to fight her battles for her, but she would always know there was someone rooting for her, even if she wasn't rooting for herself. She remembered what her father had told her a year ago about the derision and bullying he'd faced for being a halfbreed himself, and Tira vowed to never let herself be a victim like that again. If she ever saw that red fucker again, there'd be violence that she hadn't been capable of when she was a pup.

Aslatiel introduced her to ginger root next. Satira gave the herb a tentative sniff, her nose crinkling up with an exclamation of "Phew!" from the pungent and spicy aroma it gave off. Ever the curious girl though, Satira did give the broken end a little experimental lick. The flavor was indeed spicy, yet with a bit of sweetness to it she hadn't been expecting. All in all, not totally unpleasant! "Ginger root... got it," she said with a nod, passing the root back to her mother.

Asla answered her questions about garnering sexual experience in a pragmatic and straightforward way. Her time would come in its own pace: it could be quick or it could be slow. The important part was that it came when she was ready for it. She needed to find balance and be smart, use her own intuition to make her own decisions on what she did and did not want to do with other wolves. She needed to be free to give love as she desired, but to not give of herself willingly to everyone. In other words, Tira needed to know her own value—the one aspect of herself she deeply struggled with. Fortunately, before the subject could grow even heavier or Asla could notice the doubt in the young adolescent girl's eyes, she laughed and explained how she had started her experiences by fighting wolves for kisses. Tira turned shocked and bewildered blue eyes up to her mother's violet irises, giving Asla an incredulous look.

"Really? You just... fought wolves and kissed them?" she asked, as if the notion were a foreign language to her. "And they just... let you do it?" Was kissing really that universally enjoyed? It gave something for Satira to mull over while she considered her mother's words. Perhaps finding her own experience would be easier than she was expecting if strangers were totally okay with fighting for kisses, and she'd gotten them freely from that cute girl down in the fjord.

"Satira"