a poison on the street.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 04-18-2010, 07:26 PM

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((426))

The tawny-furred wolf was already somewhat familiar with the path to Dahlia de Mai. It was not so far from the northernmost part of Phoenix Valley that he had to travel to get to the southernmost tip of the Dahlian pack. He had snuck away to that general area twice prior to this; once he had ended up on Whisper Beach, called there by his very own blood—that was how he knew Larkspur. Larkspur had told him about another distant cousin of his, one irrelevant to Ehno and his family—this cousin was a D'Angelo, remnant of his unknown maternal family. His father's side of the family was less interesting to Harlowe—they were all here, he knew them, he was already acquainted with many of them. His mother's relatives were a question mark—unknown, mysterious. The thirst for knowledge was strong within Harlowe, and his family was no exception to this.

Naniko had told him he was not allowed to cross pack territory, and he knew he had to listen to his mother. Naniko would never lie to him, and he knew whatever she told him was for his own good—Harlowe was not a rebellious child when it came to what most of his mother told him. Even so, he wasn't exactly sure if she would approve of him hanging around Dahlia de Mai's perimeter so frequently, and he kept this from her, deciding instead it was better to simply withhold information about what he'd done with his day—his answers were sometimes the monotonous, succinct teenage answers when she asked about his day. Today would have to be one of those days—Harlowe wouldn't lie to Naniko, no, but if she didn't ask him directly if he'd gone to Dahlia de Mai... well, he didn't have to tell her.

The noon sun hung in the air above him, shining down over his tawny coat. He was several dozen feet from the borders, walking along them in the hopes that someone would find him and invite him in or help him find Larkspur. He didn't realize he was allowed to howl for someone, nor did he realize that would have been the intelligent and courteous thing to do—he had never actually visited another pack's lands before. The tawny-colored male was ridiculously under-socialized for a canine of his age; at seven months old he was quite nearly full-sized, though he undoubtedly still had some growing to do, and childish hints lingered on his features—oversized ears and paws gave away his youth clearly.

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