Cvijet moved quietly over the earth, her paws barely crunching the top layer of ice and her tail held aloft so as not to disturb the first snow of winter. It was an eerily beautiful morning, and the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. Not even the first bird dared break the fragile silence with a song, lest the spell be shattered. The only sound to be heard was the slap of wings against the frigid air, as a pied raven circled lazily above the silvery female. To an observer, the raven could easily be explained away as a marauder looking for scraps. The raven itself probably thought the same, as it waited for the female to make a kill. However, in truth, the bird was more akin to an heirloom. It's albino father had been constant companion to Cvijet's aunt, and its brother flew with Tobias, estranged, adopted son of Reinn. What a large, complicated family the girl had. And yet, except for the angel above her, she now found herself utterly alone. For all their size, it seemed that dysfunction had gotten the better of them and they now lay scattered about the earth as chaff in the wind. This knowledge sat in the heart of the female, a constant dull ache in her breastbone. The loss she felt worst of all was, of course, that of her father. She pictured him in her mind; broad, masculine shoulders shaking as the old poet gazed at his previous mate, Moth, taking in her infidelity. With him had been Max, their youngest daughter. The other two youngsters, whose scents she recalled only vaguely, had remained with their mother in the Saw Tooth pack. Cvijet hadn't minded losing Moth as her adopted mother, but she had burned with pain for her father. After that, the three of them had left and found the land of Moladion, fresh and vibrant. A great place for a new start. After Faol'an and Max had settled, Cvijet had pushed off, content to be a nomad. But, wherever she roamed, the pull of family continued to draw at her until it had become unbearable and she had turned her muzzle towards home. Only upon her arrival had she seen the devastation wrought by the impact. Horrorstruck, she had begun searching for her father.

Now, as she traipsed through the forest, she wished she would catch that old, beloved scent on the breeze. It never caressed her, however, and she did not draw to a halt. Instead she pressed on, hope riding as high as her raven, which was the deciding factor when it came to approaching a stranger she happened upon beside a small thicket. The orange-eyed male was busy, playfully snapping at the falling snow, and Cvijet did not wish to bother him. Still, she knew she must ask whether he had seen or heard of her father. After all, as a wolf he stood out. She smiled sadly to herself before smothering the emotion with a pillow of neutrality. Taking a breath, she moved towards the gray male, whose coloring was reminiscent of her own, and smiled warmly at him before introducing herself in the exotic, liquid tones of an arctic wolf, “Greetings. I am Cvijet. May I ask a favor of you?”

She was painfully polite (a trait inherited from her father) as she waited for his reply, keeping her beautiful eyes respectfully downcast. She just hoped he'd hurry, as a biting wind had sprung from nowhere and whipped the snow in flurries about her maw, causing her to press her ears flat against the squall. Her thick coat protected her from the worst of it, but she contemplated moving into the thicket which would offer more stability, a descision she would make as soon as she received an answer from the boy.