POISON AND WINE

Scars mar her glorious pelt, but although the scars are nothing new, their presence is not. Virgil has been fighting since she was six month old; her fur is scarred, her body a constellation of old battle wounds. The newest ones sit bright and pink, plump and evident and thick. It is all worn with pride; she fought a bear and chased it off, as a good mother and alpha ought. There is no shame in the marks she wears now; they are medals of victory.
Today she chooses to explore. She is not certain what brings her back to her old stomping grounds?their old stomping grounds, but she is there nonetheless. She seeks out a corner where his scent might still be, pausing when she finds herself ridiculous. Syrinx had been nothing short of a girlish crush, an unrequited love who nothing had ever come of. Even though she is married now, with children, she still finds something about him alluring.

It means nothing, truly; she would never commit adultery against her dearest Raisa. She could not even fathom such a thing; her bones reject the very idea. Instead she sits, until she feels some random yearning overcome her. ?Syrinx?? she calls out, although she does not expect a response.