[Jersey] is nothing. Others are puzzled by her lack of self, her inability -- or perhaps it is simply her preference -- to speak normally, or even her fascination with all things morbid despite the care with which she looks upon her younger comrades. Or perhaps that is her subconscious, making sure the little ones existing now do not succumb to the same hopeless fate as her; because no one, no one wants to be Jersey. The blank look in her murky eyes is startling, and it is almost like the lupines surrounding her duck or cringe away to avoid her terrible presence (though she is hardly a teenager, at her one year of life) and act as though she is carrying the plague.

[With] an absence that occurs in all of her actions, Jersey shakes the thickness of her dark caramel pelt, throwing clumps of matted, shedding puppy fur all around her. As she walks she'll scrape her sides against a tree here and there to rid herself of the remnants of her juvenile life before traipsing on with head held high and tail already arching. Perhaps this is just her, mimicking those near her. She does not know that she looks dominant. She does not even know what dominant is, or what it entails.

[Her] legs carry her, paws mark the way with no intrusion from her mind. This land is unclear to her but when she knows it, it will be stowed away for later reference. Where is she going, exactly? Of course, another thing she does not know. Her ears twist in all directions and she pauses, hesitates midstep as she clashes with some scent, something acrid but full of information. A male's urine -- an adult male, one who may or may not have eaten recently. One whose smell, musky and cold and drenched with something like decay, continues throughout this area of the land. It's very strange to her because as she crosses this 'border', there is only the concentrated scent of a select few wolves. As though the rest simply do not come to this place, or avoid her. That in itself aids the curiosity springing within her -- what is so terrible about here and only here that only this group of wolves would stay?

[Packs] are still foreign to her, of course. She does not know that this is a singular family with a certain structure to it that tells the way of life for each and every wolf. Of course a girl who knows not what an alpha, a beta, an omega is surely would not know why those ranks have even been created in the first place. 'Tell me, truth, why you evade me,' she murmurs to herself, her voice still childish and lacking in maturity. And the words, too, only make little sense. Her tone is so chipper, so happily amused; darkness does not taint it. Jersey breaks through the foliage into an open space and she jumps as she brushes the fur of a grayish-brownish female wolf sitting away from all the others. Jersey's lips lift slightly in caution as she sidesteps her and looks up. There are three other wolves in this clearing -- a fearsome looking male and a sterling silver girl on her back and yet another male standing tall and high and mighty in front.

[Jersey] cocks her head and steps closer and that's when she catches sight of that scar on Volbeat's (as she will come to know him as) face. A grin stretches at her face and she gallops to the alpha with a pup's exuberance, large and boxy frame barely stumbling. Jersey peers curiously at the line which might be gruesome to others but looks beautiful to her. She is not quite tall enough so she stretches her muzzle all the way to his and licks at it tentatively before dropping down and skittering away like she's just realized what she's done.

[What] is she supposed to do? Stand, sit, or roll over? Her muzzle wrinkles curiously and her eyes flash lightly. She chooses an awkward bowing position, half kneeling and half sitting, then rolls over, tail wriggling. 'Your scar,' she mumbles, her voice robotic. Should she introduce herself like the rest? 'My name... Jersey.' Again, a peculiar lack of emotion.