She had grown tired of the place she'd followed Mars to. The pregnant mutt female had begun to leave her home less and less, exposing herself to less and less in the way of the people of the pack; of course, in the confines of her home, she found herself bored. As she finished gathering her books, she realized it was time to step outside, even if it meant walking around Thornbury for a brief moment. There was no surety that she would run into anyone. There was no reason to worry. She grimaced at the thought, hefting the strap of her makeshift bag over her shoulder. Some place quiet would be preferred; it was the best setting to outline another fairy tale, something for Mars to read his children if he felt it necessary. He seemed to determined to be there for them. She'd come to realize that she couldn't stop him.
Her coat crinkled on the airwaves as she made her way across the small town, tapping her fingers together with each new step. She hadn't crossed the town since the weeks after her arrival, when she had sought out her own home amongst the stone houses. It was all too eerie. Her head shook, loose mohawk tossed around lackadaisically upon her head. Cercatori d'Arte was not like Nakzhi. In her home, everyone was everywhere all the time. There was noise, there was camaraderie. She had seen none of that since her arrival in early February. It made her miss Nevada.
A bright red mark stopped her trek, pink eyes widening curiously as she approached the door it had been painted on. The symbol was unknown, just a star-shaped circle in crimson. It was enough to pique her interest of course, so she approached in silence, reaching out to touch it. The mark left red paint on her white fingers. "Weird," she mumbled, staring at her hand. The sound of hissing air drew her attention to the side of the house; someone was there, it seemed, and though she had not wanted to interact with others, the red mark made her wonder just who it was. With a distinct swagger to her normal sashay, she found her way toward the foliage that surrounded the time-worn home. Someone had cleared a small path, and she quickly found her way along it. "'allo?" Her call was not loud, but not quite, as she followed the trail toward the back of the building. There stood a peppered male, handkerchief over his muzzle as he painted on the wall with some loud canister. Krystalle snorted at the scent on the air.
.krysta-z91 .ooc {font-style:italic; }
.krysta-z91 p {padding:0px 20px 5px 20px; margin:0px; text-indent:35px;}
.krysta-z91 b {color:#d28d18; letter-spacing:-.2px;}
.krysta-z91 {background-color:#270901; background-image:url(http://i776.photobucket.com/albums/yy46 ... letab1.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; padding:200px 0px 10px 0px; border:1px solid #d28d18; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#fff; letter-spacing:.4px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:16px; width:420px; text-align:justify; border-radius:10px; -moz-border-radius:10px; -webkit-border-radius:10px; }
.krysta-z91 {margin:0px auto;}
</style>[/html]