Masquerade
Powerful strides carried a blur of white and amethyst jewels. The breeze was enough to tousle her ivory fur, and casted her primal perfume into the awaiting air. Masquerade was an epitome of supreme regally and beauty. Her rippling, feminine carved muscles propelled her forward into tree and bush. The foliage of the nature around her scraped and prodded at her impeccable coat. The wet dirt beneath her paws clung to her feet and dried there to a cake.
With all her magnifique and glory, she found herself slowing down at the scent of other wolves, and made her presence known as she came into the view of a party of claw and fang. Her radiant eyes flickered back and fro from each wolf, and memorized each image. It was apparent that there was some meeting, of a sort, and she had managed to gracefully stumble upon it. With a tilt of her head, and a breath tumbling into the open, she watched them. Curious, yet not interested at all.
Of course she took notice of the blood and meat from freshly killed prey, and the lust and love in the eyes of those who were Imprinted. And to her surprise, she sat, and watched. Simply watched. For the scene playing out before her had caught her attention. They spoke of a hunt, but she had no desire to feed. And they spoke of familial greeting, which she had no need to think much about. So Masquerade stayed silent, parted her lips to speak, but decided against it. What was the point?