Only recently had the mocha pelted femme trekked her way to the new lands where her blood would now reside. So many new strange lands there were to explore, and she would only begin at a large orchard. Plump red fruit hung from each branch of the overgrown trees, coated with dew from Autumn. Snow also would reside upon the branches, weaving its way into unimaginable places. The crunch of crisp leaves would follow each step as her pillars would lead the lady toward a small pond. Several logs had fallen into the lake from age, but otherwise, the waters were clear and blue. Crown would lower as the femme would take a drink from the waters, tasting its crisp cold. Once she would raise her crown again, the femme would turn to gaze back at the rows of trees. A pressed path laid where her own paws would lie.
Coal black nose would raise to inhale various scents, some of sweet crab apples, crisp leaves, rabbits, and other animals that would hide within the thickly bound grasses. Multiple patches were flattened, likely nesting areas for deer. Above, several robins would chirp in a rhythmic song, reminding the damsel of something. Her own family, and her own blood. How dearly she missed each one, Chord, Motif, Bass, and Rhythm. Perhaps they had survived the crossing. Perhaps they had not. Either way, the damsel was sure she would find some wolves of her lineage. Mismatched eyes would gaze about the landscape for any sign of life in the still orchard, awaiting the presence of a creature.
"Speech"
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