sharp as shrapnel
#2
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@$%&Alacrity had been inexplicitly restless lately. Perhaps her restlessness was brought on by unease triggered by the attacks on Dahlia de Mai, or perhaps she was feeling the hints of spring that were beginning to trickle into the landscape. One or the other, or both, drew the African woman outside, even though the air had a brisk edge to it. She donned one of the mottled jackets that Anselm had given her against the chill, and set off along the riverbank, straying from the water’s edge whenever the banks grew more treacherous than her present mood was willing to tackle.


@$%&At one point or another, the painted wolf came across a break in the vegetation. There, in the clearing, a red-hued were sat cross-legged, working with something in her hands. Alacrity hesitated for a moment – she hadn’t met many of the other clan members yet, despite her lengthy stay in the lands – but eventually decided to trust the scent that marked them both as members of the coyote clan. ”What are you making?” she asked pleasantly as she drew near, her English thickly accented but spoken with an air of studied precision.





<3!


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