The Savant was trapped within the drain of her thoughts, barely paying attention the outside, physical world. She was very concerned about how to make Day of the Dead special for her pack mates. Despite her growing confidence, Geneva still battled with insecurity on a regular basis. It seemed to be part of her genetic make up. She had always second guessed herself, and ascending into the upper echelon of Phoenix Valley had done little to put her fears to rest. She was always afraid of falling short of her own expectations and lettings others down.
A feminine voice cut her thoughts like a knife going through hot butter. Shaking her head slightly, the wolfess with olive colored eyes peered over the banks of snow. Through the seemingly endless landscape of white, Geneva’s attention was finally riveted by a much darker form. The light gray Savant immediately ventured toward it, formulating her own reply as she neared the dark hued female. ”I am Geneva Stockholm, the Savant of Phoenix Valley. Who are you?” Her reply echoed out across the borders, hushed like winter wind through a copse of trees. The woman had a slight build, and her voice was always gentle, hushed like a whisper.
Geneva finally stood before her, making a note of the strange red marking on her maw. Was it dye? Was it genetic? The chronically curious female wanted to ask, but border etiquette dictated otherwise. She supposed she might be within her rights to ask as the subleader of these lands, but Geneva always tried to be polite. She believed that respect was a two way street and would not pull rank unless she felt it absolutely necessary. Because she had no sense of smell, she had to rely on her other senses to gain information about this female. She could already tell that she was a great deal younger than herself, and by her body language, she did not seem like a potential joiner.
”Are you from a different pack?” Geneva asked finally, curiosity evident in her whisper-like voice. It did not bother Geneva at all that the representative of another pack might come calling at Phoenix Valley borders. On the contrary, Geneva welcomed them, as long as their intent was pure. She would not tolerate shows of aggression at the figurative doorway of her home. But this female did not seem to offer violence, something which the wolfess was grateful for. The memory of Brennt bubbled up in her mind for a second. Geneva was a slight wolfess, and would honestly be no match for even a yearling within a fight. Her son, only seven months old, already had almost already outgrown the short, lithe wolfess. She was built delicately, but she would do whatever it took to defend her home. ”I cannot make use of scents,” Geneva explained, deciding that it would do no harm to admit this. Discourse would have to be the way to go here. The Savant hoped to gain some information. She remembered her meeting with a Crimson Dreams representative, Aro Marino, and that had gone well. Geneva supported strengthening the ties between packs and clans, and hopefully this meeting would provide this opportunity.
WC 535