Swinging from the Castles

*Aranya* · 12-21-2013, 04:17 PM

The scent of wolf was all around her, as strong as sin, and yet there was not a one to be found. Aranya sat down hard on her haunches, puzzled. She had followed this scent upriver for days, hoping to find a pack of some sorts. By the looks of things, she had just missed them. Her ears fell flat against her skull in sorrow, and her shoulders drooped. It had been many moons since she had seen her family, and never since had she found a band to call her own. No mate, no pups, not even a den she could feel safe within. Being a rogue, she had decided, did not suit her at all. She missed warmth, and safety, and comfort.

Aranya, ears drooped and tail tucked, walked further into what she assumed had been the main camp. Bones of varying age lay discarded where a meat stash had once lain. Dens, abandoned now, were filled with strange scents, whose owners she could only imagine. Big wolves, slender femmes, pup. As she thought, once or twice, unbidden, she even pictured her mother and father. Oh yes, she missed them all very dearly, and it struck her that she had never been quite this homesick.

Speech,Thoughts,

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