live fast & die young
04-19-2014, 10:09 AM
Serra had been unaware of the approaching youngster until he rose up like a wraith and spoke, surprisingly elegant for having such a puplike appearance. He was almost her size, she noted absently, but still had the awkward proportions of a younger wolf. He certainly knew how to charm a female, Serra thought wryly as she listened to the words spill from his maw. "Did my fur offend you?" Serra didn't particularly mind the fact that he had brushed her fur off, but she wasn't entirely sure why it had happened. The thought that there might be dirt there did not even occur to Serra - she wasn't exactly the most vain of wolves, and her fur was not typically something that she paid a lot of attention to. Ears twitching idly, Serra examined the youth for a long moment before speaking again. "The name's Serra Arrow. May I ask what yours is?" And with that, she found herself falling into the 'proper' conversation patterns, the ones that her parents had drilled into her since she was a pup even younger than this one. She had always been taught to be polite, to be a wolf that would give her pack and her parents a good name. She had taken to it like a duck to water, much like her brothers had. Perhaps, had she stayed, she might have impressed them enough with her mannerisms that she became their heir, to take up the mantle of Duchess with a mate at her side. But she had left, and chased after Quelt, even though for all the headway that she'd made, he might as well have been a ghost. Speech, |