Ask the Lonely
#5
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500+


Alba. The black auds pricked forward at the sound of that word. She did not know to what lands ‘Alba’ referred to, but she new that word in another context. "That’s ‘white’ in the Latin language, you know—‘alba’, that is." Perhaps it was a random comment, but the woad-marked female found herself thinking of such things these days—things that had no apparent reason. She was wandering in the world without any purpose. Perhaps she’d find one soon—someone to tame her wild heart, as DaVinci so deftly put it. She wondered then if she even desired to be tamed, or if she merely desired to be loved. To the black female, they were two very different things. Shaking her head at herself, Cwmfen returned her attention to the higher-ranking female.


"Storm," the silver-toned alto repeated with a smile. That was a pack’s name—one she recognized from her mother’s stories. "One of my ancestors was of Clouded Tears—briefly, at least." She hoped that she wasn’t confusing time periods. She thought that perhaps if green-eyed wolf was a native of these lands, that she’d know perhaps the history of it. But the black female didn’t know why she was so curious. Did origin matter in the end? She thought it did. But why?


"Ah, so you’re from across the pond. Do your siblings live here as well?" The alto’s lilt held a lighthearted mirth. The black tail wagged several times as she smiled across to the other female. The white orbs peered over, studying her with newfound interest. She admitted that it was indeed intriguing to find someone of similar heritage. While the green-eyed woman was not a native of Hibernia, she did have culture there, and she would thus regard her as a Hibernian. She herself had experienced enough culture-prejudice for her mixed blood, and she would not place it in turn upon this female. "Indeed," the Caledonian continued, sighing in turn. "It is a beautiful country there.... And yet it is so far across the sea...." The white orbs turned to the east, gazing in the direction of her homeland.


" Tine Cuileog seems to suit you more." Of course, the name meant Fire Fly in the Irish, but there was a different tone—she saw different colours in her mind—when she heard those words. She considered, however, the name Firefly. She felt that she had heard it before, but it was an obscure memory. Cwmfen suddenly thought of DaVinci, for the hybrid’s accent was similar to this female’s. Yet, they had no apparent resemblance, which, of course, meant nothing. She wondered, however, if there was a connection here, but she did not pry.


"Have you taken up Scouting?" Having randomly remembered Dahlia de Mai’s October meeting, Cwmfen decided to change the subject. "I have yet to seek out Slay...." Her words seemed irrelevant. She seemed irrelevant. Once more her social awkwardness became prevalent in her character, and she hoped that the other did not mind. Yet, she had observed Firefly’s behavior at the pack meeting, and somehow she felt that the other could be verbally aggressive. Yet, she seemed in a amicable mood at the moment. How long would it last?


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