Her grandfather, the regent of Ludicael, had met her call, approaching with great care, having checked upon his ill packmates, before finding his way toward the mocha cloaked lady, muzzle finding it's way toward her own. She relished this moment, her mismatched gems disappearing as she nuzzled her grandfather. His strong voice found it's way to her mocha auditories as she listened intently. She looked up incredulous to the male, mismatched irises shimmering, as she spoke. "I'm okay, papa... I just..." The young lady was as loss, struggling to find the right way to word her thoughts to the Author. "I'm sorry for just running into your packlands without asking first... I didn't even know you owned this pack until I heard you speak... And... A Destruction by blood cannot ignore the call of another..." Mismatched orbs drooped, as they dulled by regret. She was doing what was right... right?
She would watch the male retreat, and she would sit down, but move her stilts every so often as she spoke to get closer. Without her parents, Dutiron and Novel would be her parents now... There to comfort her, and she, in turn, would comfort them in times of dire need.
"Speech"
|
