And my home is speaking melancholy

*Vahva* · 11-21-2013, 07:47 PM

Her old home, her birth pack, something she hadn't smelt in a while was Valhallan soil. She slightly missed it, it brought memories back of her mother, a stinging pain poked at her heart. Even with the memory of her father as well. Vahva had lived here for a bit after the volcano eruption, but now she was not returning. She was here on other official business with however was running the pack. It would still be nice to speak with them though. The winter plagued the land, gripped it visciously. As the black and white female made her way to the borders, electric blue mane shining brightly in the day. She had noticed how all the packs had been on edge, so she had gotten used to making herself look less threatening with her intentions.
This was her birth pack after all. The shaman just had something to do before she could decide on a path, and she as hell would probably be giving her head out on a silver platter with this. She had saved Valhalla for last, already coming from Seracia, and Tortuga. She had spoken to Epiphron and Taurig. It was Valhalla's turn, and she certainly hoped that they would remember her if her head was removed from her body. Hopefully the man still had an inch of respect in him to meet her terms when she came to attempt to pry his crown from his head. The albino bastard. One she hadn't even met yet, and hated.

Speech,

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