There’s something about Ophelia that just wants to wander. It’s not so hard to let the wind carry you, and that was what the pup would do. Carried on the wind, drifting, if quickly. Rapidly, even, across the ground with her bright eyes and easy gait. Raw power, even in her small body. Almost two years old and she was already a force to be reckoned with—that was what happened when you had a family line like hers. The child was proud of that, and as well she should be. The girl was all brilliance and class, shining and fan-fucking-tastic.

She could have run for ages. Even though she’s not fully grown yet, the girl can eat ground like no other. Tail wagging, gold flecked with that toxic don’t-bite-me green… everything is fantastic. Coat still fluffy, but laying smooth, the muscles that were forming under the surface. It was the strangest surface, and she was a creature that was going to make the best of that. The best of everything, Ophelia is bright and happy to be here. Everything is electric. Making her way across the ground, gaze bright, and… and suddenly, she doesn’t feel the need to stay in Taviora anymore.

It didn’t matter if she stayed or went, there would always be that pull that called her home. No, the mammoth daughter made her way toward another border of trees. Pace absolutely quick and easy, the winter hanging around her shoulders in that way it had. The dampness had become a part of her soul by now. Damp, but like spring was on the horizon. It was coming sooner than anyone would have said aloud, and she would be two years old when it came. Not an adult, not for real, but closer. That was all that mattered, getting closer.

In Ophelia’s mind, she already was grown enough. That was all that mattered, of course. She was headed for the trees, and she was going to weave her way through the woodland with her bright eyes and stay out in the early afternoon as long as she pleased—mom wouldn’t worry. She wouldn’t have to worry, for the girl was good in her own hands. She wasn’t scared. Ophelia wasn’t scared of anything. Maybe that was dangerous, maybe she’d get in trouble, and she didn’t give a damn. That was all that mattered, right? Everything would roll off her back, nothing was permanent, and she was just getting out.