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Oh, snow. The slate colored wolfess wasn't certain if she liked it anymore. Although, looking around the wonderland of white, she supposed she could find some fondness for it. For the nuisance that it was, it was certainly something to look at. She shook snow flakes out of her coat, blinking against the soft snowfall. At least it wasn't raining or hailing. Soft snowflakes were a hell of a lot better than being pelted in the head with dime-sized ice chunks.
She looked down interestedly at the tracks she had left in the snow. Grinning suddenly, the lime-eyed wolfess loped around with a sudden burst of speed. She dashed in two big loops, picking her legs up as she went. Laughing breathlessly, she skidded backward to review her work. She had formed a perfect figure eight in the snow.
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Snow had the interesting effect of dulling noise so that it seemed that one was the only living creature, save for the errant raven that crowed the harsh cry of winter. For Cicatrice, this was little different from her normal life, being alone most of the time anyway. For a social creature to be as alone as she is a sorry thing, though the scarred female had never really thought she was capable of having a life in a pack, not after her childhood. There was still the longing though, for kith and kin, for the huntsong on cold nights, for the ease of traveling in the pawprints of her packmates, instead of forging ahead alone. She'd been aware of the packs of 'Souls for some time now, as little escaped the big she wolf's notice. Inhaling a breath of the sweet cold, she caught the scent of another female, thank Fenrir, it was a wolf, and not a hybrid, or worse, a bloody coyote. Picking up her swift pace, Cicatrice sought out the she wolf, and upon finding her, stopped and observed as she was oft to do. Frivolity was certainly not one of her own traits, though it did seem to be one of this female's. Tilting her grizzled head to one side, she sat on a small rise, studying the gray and white she wolf. "What... in the world are you doing?" Cicatrice asked, her voice surprisingly soft for one with as many scars as she had, still the tone held in it a hint of authority and poise that had come through when Cicatrice had learned to fight for herself all those months ago. Rising, the tall she padded over to the other female, silvery blue eyes keen with interest and the faintest hint of amusement.
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Lime green eyes flashed in the dull midday light, a shock of color against the white and gray all around. Her ears swiveled as she heard a voice, turning her head she saw a tall, noble wolf. Her voice held the ghost of authority and Geneva felt the urge to lower herself and flick her ears back, but she fought the instinct. Instead she stood tall, lifting her head as she peered up at the stranger.
The effect was slightly ridiculous. Although Geneva was perfectly proportional, she was a very small wolfess. She was barely the size of an adolescent wolf, her body thin and delicate. Once, she had thought she had been a pacifist at heart, but now she was discovering that her insecurities were holding back and not a true part of her personality.
"Well..." she began, although she still felt embarrassed. "I was playing, in the snow." The admission was ridiculous, but there was no reason to hide what she had been doing. It was pretty obvious. Geneva was very reserved and hated being caught when she thought she had privacy. Still, she shook her insecurity away with a smile. "What's your story?" she asked in a light, friendly tone.
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As the female replied, Cicatrice initially thought of a rather smart assed answer, but this one didn't seem to be the type that would set with very well. Silvery eyes met and flicked over the lime green of the other female. Flicking her dark ears to and fro, she considered the female's question, as she always considered inquiries about herself. Thinking, she ran her pink tongue around her teeth, "Mmm... I'm a wanderer of sorts, I was stolen from my birth pack when coyotes raided and killed most of my littermates. I spent a year with them, and then escaped. Been by myself ever since," That was, of course, an abridged version. "And yours?" she asked.
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Well, that certainly hadn't been the response that the gray wolfess had been expecting. She swallowed once, cocking her head to the side. Sarcasm failed her so utterly every time she tried to use it. It wasn't part of her personal makeup, but she had refused to let the stranger make her feel awkward and out of place with her actions. It seemed no matter what she did, she always felt like a fool.
Geneva felt like she had made a total ass of herself, but the aloof stranger didn't seem affronted. It spoke volumes for the way she had been treated in her past, which was apparently not a fairytale. But she seemed of the curious sort, and Geneva could relate on that level. "I'm the Chief Sergeant of the Crimson Dreams pack," she said. Her rank was part of her story, and she wasn't bragging, although there was a certain pride in her voice. She hadn't expected to move up in the ranks, but she accepted the responsibilities as an honor. Although responsible and reliable, Geneva was not a dominant wolfess at heart. She could act the part when she felt threatened, if she felt that she needed to protect her pack - her family - she definitely could, but it wouldn't be her first reaction or nature.
"I came to this land a short while ago, after my mate and children died. I had been seeking a place to raise a family. I found the perfect place, but not in time."
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Cicatrice knew little of the packs, though she had noticed through her wanderings in 'Souls that the packs tended to have different names for ranks within their number. As a result, the female's response told her relatively little, though at the hint of pride in the green eyed she's voice, Cicatrice could safely assume that it was not a low rank this one held. "Chief Seargent... I'm assuming this is a good rank? I know little detail about the packs in these parts." She scratched an ear thoughtfully when her companion continued. Frowning in consideration, Cicatrice wondered if it was worse to have had everything, a mate and pups, and to have lost them, than to have nothing to lose at all, as was her current position. "I am sorry to hear that," She murmured softly, not wanting to directly ask about the loss.
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Stockholm looked gravely at the scarred female. Perhaps she had misjudged her. Now, her bravado was gone. It wasn't like to her act on something like that anyway. She hardly had any pride, except in her home. And it seemed that Cicatrice didn't even have that. She didn't feel pity for the wolfess. But she felt a sort of resonance with the way she had felt before coming to Crimson Dreams. "It happens."
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