[J] You Don't [A]l[W]ays Know Best

Miriette morte dre Soul · 01-02-2011, 12:31 AM

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OOC: Big Grin 428.

Lauren can pop in if she wants to, but I've made it clear Vheissu might be running behind Miri. <3 AW, so anyone jump in.

Silky chocolate pelt and ebony locks danced gently in the wake of miss Miriette, spiteful of the band of leather tying back their long tresses. Striking silver orbs ever looking forward, not lost in the past, only looking to the future, to the once clover-lined lands of the Valley, the pack she occupied for so short a time, the place her one traitorous father ruled. The cold breeze of winter glided against dark coat with a ghostly touch, ever reminding the thick pelted woman of how chilly it could get this far North. Nevertheless, she continued on, thoughts directed on the path before her. The red-pelted loner fellow would be along any minute now, having been sidetracked by something along the path while she had pressed forward. Her Father would be waiting, after all... and it wouldn't do to keep the scarred fellow waiting any longer.

She once enjoyed the warm Phoenix Valley with a purpose involving frigid actions, things meant to chill the blood and harden the heart with little more than a simple maneuver. She had once planned to kill the lighter pelted brunette, her revenge against his transgressions. Killing her mother before the three siblings, raping the poor woman to result in them, and any other mad actions he had executed while still beneath the name of Maluki. Now she was returning for reasons not related and yet related to the wolf now called Jefferson. Miriette planned to live in his pack, perhaps repair their burned bridge... but most of all, to live in a place she found more enjoyable than any other. The shamrock filled fields, those walks along the quartz shoreline... she loved the land there, and would gladly fight off the entire pack to reside upon it.

Within mere moments she was upon the borders of Phoenix Valley, ebony paws crunching the wet snow with a simple ease. Ah, the familiar marks of the pack, the same old musty scent exuding from each landmark on the borderline... Miriette wondered absently who it was that went about doing the marking. A crooked, amused grin passed over her face as the coywolf took in the sight of snowy Phoenix Valley. Creamy maw rose to the heavens in a ghostly howl, deep and sultry to match Miriette's natural voice, calling for the attention of whomever may be within earshot. She mildly wished it would be Jefferson that heard her first, but even cranky old Geneva would be a welcome receiver. She chuckled at the idea of the woman's reaction to her return.

One never knew.

Talk. Think. Walk.

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