ooc: Goodday 
If there was but an iota of happiness to be found, perhaps the woman would have found herself smiling as she returned to the claimed lands. In her wake were the wild rivers of red, trailing at the end of this macabre deathmarch of sorrow. And along her path as well were tendrils of a more permanent kind, staining the fragrant greens with pungent hues of death and premature decay from the life slain clasped tightly by weathered lips around. She dragged the body in silence, with only the soft whine of strain upon her lips as the tear of her broad shoulder was bothered from the labor. But it was necessary pain… a healing pain. A pain that distracted her from the pain of her heart and forced her to press on and ensure the lives of thus she could keep.
With the young bulk in tow, she lumbered down the countless travelled route toward the aromatic borderlines marked with the scent of pack and flora. A shame she chose to tarnish this way with the stains of blood, but at least here one would look upon the borders and see that this blood portrayed the essence of the back, the life force still coursing within. And the prosperity… despite the turmoil that had once stricken their lands, still the pack would prevail and they would prosper as the buds once frozen in winter would break from the frigid soil and spread their vibrant petals toward the glowing sun.
And as an omen from the ancestors that watched this Nomad’s steps upon their borders were two like forms inquiring amongst themselves. Their scents were alike as well as their forms but coupled with the alluring scent of the wild. Well travelled indeed… perhaps newcomers from the town by the sea. But her commendable excitement was not alive this day but was replaced with a calm worn plainly on her bloodied maw. From the closing distance she eyed the two, then sounded around the clasped throat a short howl of acknowledgement. She came upon them then, with massive form standing composed and loose with the casual air of a simple greeting. From her maw fell the young buck elk as she effortless crossed the borders to reclaim her place upon the land before she turned and greeted the pair with a soft, albeit tired smile. Politely, she dipped her head, spilling overgrown strands of auburn locks to veil the she-wolf’s golden gaze. And from her mane slipped a violet blossom tethered to an owl’s down and was alone of the spot of grass between them, separated from the many like pairs that adorned her mane.
“Goodday to you…” the she-wolf greeted in hardly more than a whisper. The stench of death was strong on her lips and habitually she lapped them to be rid of the imposing aroma. “These lands you stand upon are of Ichika no Ho-en. I am its High Shepard X’yrin, an Exultare of the distant Nomads. Might I know your names, young Wanderers?”