Gray surrounds me as another day gives way to the inevitability of its end. I watch it settle over the Crags, this harsh place where I’ve managed to survive. How long now? Two years? Three? I left home so young, in comparison to many of the other Moladion-born I’ve seen struggling along without pack at their back. So often they adventure for a day or so and then scramble home when hunger calls. I all but raised myself. But I was born stronger. I know that, now. I’ve never had a need for others. But there is a…nagging. Something urges me to socialize. I know a great deal about myself and my capabilities, perhaps it’s time I learned more of theirs. Besides, I’ve developed so nicely; it would be a shame to waste myself on these frigid rocks.
I was made to be seen.
I move toward Glorall with a silky, confident stride. I move as if I own every inch of the ground I cover. I’ve truly grown into my skin, and I’ve learned how to use it. I was born for the in-between times: the world that hovers between dawn and daylight, between dusk and true night. This is when I most often choose to travel, as I’m virtually invisible unless I care to emerge; I’m a shadow unless I want to be heard. Even my eyes fade to black at the edges, though the jade closer to my pupils can be quite alluring when I need it to be. Otherwise, my face is stone. Unreadable. I am the master of my own body: nothing I do is an accident.
As the scent of salt and sea strengthens in my nostrils, I can also begin to pin down the scents nearest the territory border. None are familiar. Even if they were, I know the rules. I’m expected to wait just beyond the marks, and presumably prostrate myself before whoever arrives to greet me. Depending on how successfully I can project a non-threatening, well-behaved demeanor, they’ll determine I’m suitable and allow me to cross into the pack lands. That’s my understanding of the routine, anyway. I can’t say I’ve ever bothered to experiment with it.
In the spirit of trying new things, I stop where the scent reaches its peak, first confirming that I haven’t crossed the boundary. I raise my head from interrogating the ground and take in my surroundings. I’m fairly certain that there’s no one in my immediate vicinity, so what comes next? Am I supposed to call out? I dismiss that idea; it’s just not like me to so blatantly announce myself. Instead, I choose to sit right where I am. Anyone walking the border will find me, quite relaxed, watching the world quietly drift into darkness.
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