This is What the Future is Made Of
12-13-2013, 07:49 AM
The day was suspiciously mild for what it held in store. They pack was to be moved to an island and Azalea was left with a sick twist of worry in her gut. She seemed to never escape her worry anymore or the sickness it brought with it. Her stomach churned and she resisting her urge to go relieve herself of her last meal. She sat outside of her den, watching over the plains toward the trees and hills that housed most of the pack. Were they getting ready? Would they ever be ready? Azalea was not yet sure if the move was meant to be permanent, not that it mattered to her either way. She loved new places and an island sounded like a pretty cool place to live. With a sigh she would stand, lifting her muzzle to call out over the lands. Chrysanthe. Her aunt had offered to assist her in the move and Azalea trusted her to help. She had tested the passage and would know the safest route. The puppies were about a week old now, their eyes would so soon be opening. She watched with anticipation for her aunt. |
