<font color=258194 face=times>the pines were roaring on the height;</font>

far over the misty mountains cold
to dungeons deep and caverns old

               She had grown up to an lean and lithe figure, long neck and tail seeming to make her more like myth than reality. A few extra vertebrae, a few extra tail bones, elongated muscles, delicate composition in between. She was ethereal grace and dancing incarnate.

               Her long black legs mimic the rolling canter of horses as she lopes along the crater, between sparse trees of the western portion of crater. She had learned the art of hunting from Selene, from experience, and this easy gait was purposed to spook the smaller things of prey out of their hidey holes. She is graceful, she is fluid in her movements, each motion like it was choreographed rather than utilitarian as it was. She flushes a small weasel and the pursuit is an immediate transformation. It is as though watching someone performing the Viennese Waltz as they transform it into a Paso Doble, smooth and tip toed to powerful and sharp like a snake strike.

               She whips almost a full one eighty in a single pivot and takes off after the small creature. She weaves and dodges around the obstacles the prey hoped to put between it and the famished girl. She was never so hungry as to turn on her own kind - but she was not the least bit concerned by the notion that others might do so either. Not until she considered she would be the prime target for those that sought their own kind for a meal. You may wonder why this is relevant. Well, when she scoops up the weasel into her mouth, she comes to stand with elegant poise, paw lifted in alarm and hackles raised. She can smell the girl in the rocks and it is the first wolf she has come across without her big sister Selene there to determine their course of action.

               She flattens her long ears, slightly too-large paws spreading her toes in preparation for sprinting off. She was a master of flight and often preferred that to fighting due to her recognition of her own weaknesses. That is when her vibrant teal gemstone eyes lock on a dark figure amongst the rocks that lined the place she hunted. She bristles, looking just that much larger for their spiking height, and lifts her lips in a warning - though she stops a growl in her throat as the scent takes a hold of her mind and reminds her of a time before sight, before sound. The scent draws her lips down and her ears forward again. Familiar.

               She slowly, cautiously, drops her head to place her meal on the earth - its back broken and its life draining slowly with her distraction from the usual head shaking death it would have otherwise been granted. She keeps her eyes locked on the figure that remains half hidden with a squinted distrust. �Who is there?� Her voice is soft, a even split between alto and soprano - a mere breezing sound.

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