It was the usual day of torturous suffering and unbearable pain. Her eyes still stung from the tears shed due to nightmares cursing her every slumbered moment the night before. Her breathing was ragged as she searched about for something to feast upon. She had been following an elk trail but quickly realized that she would not be able to bring down even the weakest of the animal by herself in her conditions so she changed her course to look for something else to feast upon. She hated ending an animal's life but she had no choice because she had to eat something or else she would die a death of suffering. Perhaps she deserved to die like that.

Her hunt would lead her to strange territories that she had never encountered before. A sea of sand would make her curse as the coarse material rubbed against the pads in her paws. Why was she even there? Was it her fate to die in a cruel desert? Perhaps it was suffering or perhaps she was being a drama queen with a tragic past. A tortured artist at heart.

Sliding down a dune, Sindri skidded to a halt at the bottom, almost getting rolled off her paws in the process. At the last second she managed to save herself. She stood still and panting over splayed legs. Whew. That was close. It took a couple moments for her to get her bearings and even longer for her heart to stop racing. It was then that she noticed a nearing figure. The little fae's ears flicked. Whoever they were, they had to have seen her graceful moves. She sighed. There was no time for embarrassment. Sindri had been wandering the dunes for some time. She wasn't to the point of calling herself lost, but she was in a bit of a predicament. Clearing her throat, she called, "Excuse me? Hello? By any chance, could you point in the direction out of here?" Speaking -- Thinking

Widened eyes. Flight or fight nature that leaned towards flighting whenever possible. A scared appearance. Everything remained the usual for Hecate but the dunes had some sort of an effect on her. There was a voice from an unknown figure and she turned to see a stranger asking for advice. Hecate took off as she hated social encounters altogether. She had grown accustomed to running away from the things that so often frightened her. Trauma had turned her into such a weak thing. There had been one time, a time early in her pup hood, where she had been very easy-going and loud and rambunctious. She cared not to remember the events that took that away from her.

"I'm your girl and you're my groom."