Years do strange things to a soul, and this one was no different. A settled home hadn't been something that the Punk-wolf had known for what was nearly her entire life time, gone were the days she'd spent with her large and estranged family in the valley that they had originally called home. Gone were the original days of her escape; where she had dwelled as a mere yearling with ambition in a swamp she'd never forgotten. And between those days and this one were endless roads, far and wide, varying in the surroundings and seasons. Six long years.
And now she was here, staring through a pair of ever-sharp eyes, not even age had touched her sight, at the beach. Of course, the girl-wolf had seen the ocean in her life. She was crawling up in years for a wild wolf, apparently unaffected by the end of the human race, but something about it here was eerie to her. Like a strange call. Her ears turned flat to her skull for a second, their blue tinged triangular hues melding against the currently colored green of her cranium. Both the wind and the sun were to her back, there were no sunsets on this ocean, only sunrises.
Lifting herself the wiry female made her way toward the rocky planes that extended beyond the sand and toward the sea, the salt and brine stung her nose and her weathered coat shook in the breeze, whirls of strange color pressed in muddled bunches moved as if alive in the breeze. Yellow, green, orange, red, blue, and purple shifted, acting as restless as the old woman felt.
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