Please excuse Punk. She is rude, and an idiot.
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The stones here were bizarre, Punk had never understood human rituals. She had no idea that this was a burying ground for them – only that all of the stones were strangely smooth and rounded with strange markings in them. It was all a little too unnatural for her, which was saying something. A wolf with the unexplainable desire to dye her fur every color under the sun definitely had a concept of what was out of the norm, and how to accept and cope with it.
A clink not too far off to her right caught the female's attention, prying her eyes off of a particularly large marble tombstone she looked in that direction in time to catch sight of an ultra-white thing sitting itself down with some object (the backpack) that Punk couldn't identify. By 'thing' we do mean werewolf, Punk hadn't decided what she was going to call them yet. The common name seemed entirely too bland. What did werewolf mean, anyway?
Walking up the too-straight rows of headstones she made her way over to the 'thing' and asked, abruptly. "What is the point of a stone forest?" Looking around, to indicate the meaning of her question. She had no better name for it, she'd yet to learn the word 'cemetery' or what its purpose was. To her, the most comparable thing to this, was a forest. Her tone indicated that this was a forest that would have rode the short bus to school, if forests could ride buses and go to school, and Punk knew what buses were. Little did she know, that this forest would have rode a hearse to school.
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