[J] You Don't [A]l[W]ays Know Best

[Miriette morte dre Soul]

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OOC: 428.

Lauren can pop in if she wants to, but I've made it clear Vheissu might be running behind Miri. <3 AW, so anyone jump in.

Silky chocolate pelt and ebony locks danced gently in the wake of miss Miriette, spiteful of the band of leather tying back their long tresses. Striking silver orbs ever looking forward, not lost in the past, only looking to the future, to the once clover-lined lands of the Valley, the pack she occupied for so short a time, the place her one traitorous father ruled. The cold breeze of winter glided against dark coat with a ghostly touch, ever reminding the thick pelted woman of how chilly it could get this far North. Nevertheless, she continued on, thoughts directed on the path before her. The red-pelted loner fellow would be along any minute now, having been sidetracked by something along the path while she had pressed forward. Her Father would be waiting, after all... and it wouldn't do to keep the scarred fellow waiting any longer.

She once enjoyed the warm Phoenix Valley with a purpose involving frigid actions, things meant to chill the blood and harden the heart with little more than a simple maneuver. She had once planned to kill the lighter pelted brunette, her revenge against his transgressions. Killing her mother before the three siblings, raping the poor woman to result in them, and any other mad actions he had executed while still beneath the name of Maluki. Now she was returning for reasons not related and yet related to the wolf now called Jefferson. Miriette planned to live in his pack, perhaps repair their burned bridge... but most of all, to live in a place she found more enjoyable than any other. The shamrock filled fields, those walks along the quartz shoreline... she loved the land there, and would gladly fight off the entire pack to reside upon it.

Within mere moments she was upon the borders of Phoenix Valley, ebony paws crunching the wet snow with a simple ease. Ah, the familiar marks of the pack, the same old musty scent exuding from each landmark on the borderline... Miriette wondered absently who it was that went about doing the marking. A crooked, amused grin passed over her face as the coywolf took in the sight of snowy Phoenix Valley. Creamy maw rose to the heavens in a ghostly howl, deep and sultry to match Miriette's natural voice, calling for the attention of whomever may be within earshot. She mildly wished it would be Jefferson that heard her first, but even cranky old Geneva would be a welcome receiver. She chuckled at the idea of the woman's reaction to her return.

One never knew.

Talk. Think. Walk.

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[Jefferson Soul]

Sorry this took so long! I guess it got pushed to the second page before I even saw it. o_o!!

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What was that sound? His ears perked to attention, catching the howl's echoes even over the crackle of the fire. He recognized it, somewhat, though he could not understand why; so many older members had returned to the Valley as of late, yet while this one reverberated with a familiar sound, he could not understand the reason behind such familiarity. It was a call, nonetheless, and up he rose from the rocking chair. Jefferson straightened the sling on his shoulder, cleared his throat, and out the front door he whisked.

Somewhere along the way he shifted to a lupus form, always finding it somewhat less terrorizing to strangers at the borders—even if this one held a resembling sound. The scarred man moved towards the call's source, the sound ringing like chimes in his ears. Who was it? Why did its origin perplex him so? Perhaps he walked faster than usual—or limped, rather—but Jefferson reached the point of interest physically before mentally, and the image that met his green eye startled him beyond belief.

Almost immediately, the fur at his neck and throat flared, talons digging at the soil. She had left so suddenly, so long ago, yet it was not necessarily on bad terms. Still, with how he had last seen her, the brute could not have been too careful. "Miriette," he said, a rawness in his tone and a stony presence in his eye. Jefferson thinned his eye, unconsciously poising himself, as if she might lash at him any second. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence. What do you want?"

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