H A V E you ever seen such a creature as a flea? They are small, black, hard-bodied insects that no one likes. They are a pest, a thorn in the side, and they make life miserable for anyone afflicted by them. The mostly white body that lays in the mud now is trying to rid herself of them, rolling in the stinky bog muck to suffocate the biting parasites. She hates that these things exist, shaking her head and scratching her now black shoulder quite roughly. A growl can be heard, but it is not one of anger, it is one of pleasure. Scratching these bites makes her feel so much better, though it is hard to get rid of these things. She is itchy, all the time, and it doesn't make a difference to the black bugs infesting her body and drinking her blood.

S H E doesn't understand why they are there, she only knows that they suck, and she wishes they were gone. But, nothing she has tried has worked, so she rolls in the mud. Flea, this is what she had been known as, before she left her home. They called her this, mother and father, in their own way. Her mother always groomed her, repeatedly, trying to rid her daughter of the plague of the bugs. The young whitish wolf rolls more, finding that the muck of the river bank, her pelt being dirtied into blackness by the dark wet soil. It is not unusual for the girl to roll in whatever she can find, she is a puppy still, her energy and habits are still very much that of a puppy.

F L E A stands, shaking the extra mud out of her coat, and waiting to see if her idea would be worth the dirt or not. She may be unsuited for pack life, the cloying scents nearly too much for her young nose, but she does long for company every now and again. Coming to a strange land made her want to meet the wolves here. Her dark eyes look for any others, and she waits, sitting down, wanting for a bit of company before she goes on her way.

F l e a

female :: three :: too young for love :: no soul found :: forever a lone wolf :: "natural" wolf