Finn wandered through the vestiges of a bygone age with an untroubled mind and unhesitant steps. She weaved through the jumbled mess of concrete and wires and metal and rotted wood quietly, efficiently, leaving not whisper as she passed. She liked the city, it’s silent craggy face staring upward into the bleak sky, still challenging, even though it was as empty as a hollow oak. The smells that had clung to this place were dampened, muted, so Finn could snuff at the tangy strangeness of gasoline, and the murk of tar without being disgusted or overwhelmed.
She suited this place, at least in colour, blending into the stonework and snow and oily shadows cast by the meek sunlight. And, like some kind of reverse chameleon, Finn felt at home in a place she matched. It was like Anathema. The gloomy caverns brimful with gloomy darkness lent peace to her mind and serenity to most of her dreams. And though she feared tethering herself to a pack would restrict her freedom, she had quickly discovered, to her delight, that she was free to roam, and did so at her leisure. Slowly but surely Finn was mapping out the lands surrounding Anathema with her vivid, library-like brain.
She’d like to explore it all someday, take each panorama into her head so that even when she grew old and couldn’t move, or perhaps went blind like her grandmother, she’d still be able to look inside and remember sunlight on the mountain tops, or a fall day in the forest, or the winter wind spinning the waves into beautiful, crystalline structures. She could still see the channel of British Columbia with such clarity it could break your heart. Azure ocean under a red sunset, the trees green and glowing in the light, the underbrush looking almost unreal in it’s beauty. Finn missed that place, but she had seen it now, and there was still far more before her.
Climbing the rise created by a collapsed overpass, Finn stared down at the city as the winds combed through her fur. It wasn’t too cold today, and thus she was just the regular frigid that she always felt, even on the hottest of days. A low noise susurussed up towards Finn, and her singular ear stood to attention, swiveling, satellite like, as she tried to pinpoint where the growl had come from. Finn took a moment to reflect on the dangers of leaping in without looking before leaping in, skidding down the snow drift and out into the street in a flurry of slush.
This brought her eye to eye with a thickset looking dog. Finn took a deep snuff. Male, younger than her, belonging to the pack Cour de Miracles. The she-wolf logged this information away, flashing the creature a cheerful smile. “Hello there,” She chirped, “Nice day, hmm?” Finn stood, shaking off the clumps of snow in a wild twist. This only made her coat curlier, and she stared out at the dog from a bushy, mess of fur. “The name’s Finn Fidh. And how do you do, sir?”