02-24-2022, 01:34 AM
Despite her better, (and bitter), judgment, Minthe remained in the temperate woodlands. Keeping to Elkshire's range most days by the grace of the queen, there were still times she found herself drifting closer to that forbidden forest. She blamed curiosity. Nostalgia.
Laid out in the grassland situated between pack territories, the crimson woman watched as clouds gathered, thick and ready to weep. Her nose wrinkled when the first cold droplets began to fall, and she was thoroughly drenched by the time she managed to find meager cover among a set of bracken.
Even through the rain she could smell the Pantheon's border markers, a faint warning she knew she should heed. Instead, almost defiantly, she tucked further into the brambles, curling up to protect herself from the weather.
Laid out in the grassland situated between pack territories, the crimson woman watched as clouds gathered, thick and ready to weep. Her nose wrinkled when the first cold droplets began to fall, and she was thoroughly drenched by the time she managed to find meager cover among a set of bracken.
Even through the rain she could smell the Pantheon's border markers, a faint warning she knew she should heed. Instead, almost defiantly, she tucked further into the brambles, curling up to protect herself from the weather.
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