Enocra Woodland

Pine, spruce and firs alike...
Dense coniferous forests cover the woodlands, with clearings, paths and the occasional wildberry shrub throughout. Pine, spruce and fir make up much of the forest in the east, with the forest becoming swampier in the west towards Mecor Valley. In the west, cypress trees dominate, with fallen trees creating bridges across and throughout the stillwaters.

Return to Lunar Children

I can’t wait just to see another day;
IP: 68.63.96.50

I found a love that can’t grow old!


He feels the world begin to spin around her and it is as if the earth herself soothes down her once rising hackles. He is not the only one to feel the universe surround them. She feels his breath as if she is the air around them. She feels his heartbeat as if she is the earth beneath his paws. She feels his years of stargazing in the weight of his eyes.

In a single moment she understands what it was that drove the young males each to collapse to their knees. She knows what it was that drove Bahamut to die beneath the unyielding fist of the meteor. She takes a few steps forward and suddenly his stare has an entirely other meaning - a new discovered purpose.

She feels his soul cross the void between them and the elation that began when he took a step towards her himself. He whines and his voice captures her full attention, a small wag begun in her tail. His tilted neck makes her wash with relief, with welcome, with companionship. She whines and she does not wait a moment longer.

The rush of that first wave of his imprint, of his soul across her fiery figure, was the first dose of an intoxicating drug called Yojimbo. One she would never tire of and never wish gone from her.

She runs to him, a bark of play and causeless glee parting her maw. She bounds up and without hesitation or qualm she runs the top of her head beneath his chin and buries her face into the fur of his neck. It is affection she has not shown to any other - not even the white man of the old home. The father of her pups had never had this greeting and none other ever would were they not her dearest family.

She pulls away then, face scrunching and nose twisting in thought. “Mother calls Pompeii. Brother calls Pei.” She tilts her head. “Best Males calls me Red.” But she tilts her head father. “What Mate call me?.”

female | seven | yojimbo’s wild woman | gypsies
wild-woman of the gypsies; sister of hawthorn



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