She was nearly a yearling, and if anything, being born to loner parents and raised in the crater made her more suited to be a wildling than to be a pack wolf for any pack in general. She was far too independent, far too free spirited to be tied down by someone's rule without cause. If Maradona ever joined a pack not let by her parents, they better damn well prove to her that they have every reason to be her leader. She was in the swampy part of the Mid-West for the simple reason that bugs liked to be here, and she liked to eat bugs. They were delicious and to get away from her family. Maradona very much enjoyed meeting other wolves of Moladion. Her mother was far too overbearing to really allow that to happen on a regular basis and Cersei thought that everyone should be her slave because apparently just because she was the favorite, she should be Queen.

Maradona was lounging at the base of one of those trees that apparently so made fun of Starfall. She had found one that allowed the last little bit of sunlight through the thinning canopy of Fall and onto her stretched out form. Life was good. She had an almost completely full belly of various bugs that she had found, and now she rested quietly with no one bothering her. Soon she would have to return home otherwise Mother would be angry. She didn't really understand why her mother was so particularly protective of her and her sisters. Father said it was purely because they were loners and that pack wolves did not take kindly to loners. This only made her more curious about pack wolves. What did they have that her parents didn't? Land? Sure. But the Crater was plenty big! Protection? She supposed that helped, but if you knew the land you knew where to hide when a bear was scented. Either way, her beautiful blue eyes dozed while her dark coat absorbed the last few rays of sunglight.

Her afternoon bliss was shortly disrupted by a flurry of feet followed by a snarl and the attack of something. Realizing that she was not detected by the tree-attacker, she lifted her head and looked at the boy. He was marked similarly to her, but if she had any say, she was far prettier. Her near navy blue eyes watch him as he collects himself and attacks the root that apparently tripped him. She pricked her ears and tilted her head in amusement, before clearly her throat and calling out to him. "You know, trees can't move to trip you. You're likely just going through a gangly stage--or at least that's what my father calls it whenever my sister trips over things. He says we'll grow out of it." She rested her head down on the root watching him. She was fearless, espcially since this wolf looked about her age. She wondered if he would be as rude as Istas was, or if they were even from the same pack.

My tongue
will taste of gin and malicious intent