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Cwmfen nic Graine · 06-17-2010, 04:25 PM

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Welcome to ‘Souls~! ^=^
Typically, when we write, we stay in past tense (you mix past with present tense). Also, just to let you know when you wrote “waiting for the strangers to return”, your implying that someone particular was there before… It’s a mild, mild form of powerplay, but just be careful of it, ^=^

Already a moon had passed since the Woaded Warrior had returned to the pack that had offered her protection. In return, she had given the pack her protection as its Warrior. But War did not wage within these lands, and the black wolf had been left to war with loners who disregarded the laws of the packs and the boarders that bound their lands. And yet, such occurrences were rare. The Warrior did not complain, for that was not her purpose. Indeed, the song and fury of War would sing through her sanguineous soul, but it was Peace that War was sought to retain. Cwmfen knew this well, and her tranquil soul was content with the Peace that lay over the lands. She was well aware of the tensions between Dahlia and neighboring territories, and so now, more so than during the warring seasons, the tranquil mind was alert and vigilant.

With dancing paws, the black wolf glided quietly through the woods, her passing nothing more than a mere whisper that joined the song of the wind and the trees. Having painted the woad anew upon her fur, the Dahlian donned the lupus form once more and returned to patrolling the boarders. She listened to their words as she passed, reminded of the faeries of Caledonia. The sinew beneath her fur was relaxed as she moved, ready to spring forth or remain still. The white orbs drank in the world, watching the colours of the world’s songs dance within her soul. But there was a change in that song. The woad-banded ears swiveled to catch that sound, her hungering maw lifting to catch a foreign scent. Effortlessly, the Raven Warrior changed her course, her movements ethereal. The pied Raven followed, calling once into the damp air.

A young female was at the boarders of her pack. The Caledonian-Korean did not take a passive route to observe, for the loner had waited patiently, respecting the pack laws. A faint smile tugged imperceptibly at her tranquil, impassive features. Despite her modest rank, the black female held herself with erect posture, her presence commanding and yet not domineering. “You wait upon the boarders of Dahlia de Mai,” the alto melody sang quietly with that strange formality, silver tones dancing along the damp air. The Caledonian lilt was light, but it’s foreign sound was not lost upon the air. “What is your purpose?”

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