The morning is crisp and the dew sparkles across the dying grass of the fields. The tall stalks snap, brittle beneath the push of her slight figure, and in her wake a path is made. A brilliant pale blue skyline has appeared and the light has begun to white out the glimpse of stars from the night before as the dawn moves past into the early throes of morning, soon to be eclipsed by the fast approaching noon. For now the world is waking from a hushed slumber, each nuance of sound heightened. Forest hued eyes spy a herd of deer grazing on the other edge of the lake that she moves to, the grass giving way to soft sand and the gentle sway of lake water. A group of ducks thrust their webbed feet in swift motions to push them further into the lake as the cream and black wolf approaches despite the sedate movements of her fine limbs or the connection she feels with them and with the earth.

She knows, in her heart, there will be few more days as precious as this one in temperature and liveliness before winter breaks hard across the land. Another turning of the year before she can once more stand in this same place to find such circumstances aligning. Her nostrils flare gently to take in the stale scent of the lake and the fish and life below and around it. Her belly rumbles only slightly at the thought of a fresh breakfast. Soft pale pink flesh sliding down her tongue as she picked apart the lean body of a fish. Yet that growl is not persistant and Sorcha does not require it.

What she wishes for, however, is company. Company of any kind to enjoy this day at the edge of the lake and the edge of the land, where the sand cushions her as she lays down on her belly with ears pricked. A fish leaps up from the water, splashing down in a swift motion, and a hawk swoops from a tree on the distant shore with it's eye cocked to the water. Lifting her blackened muzzle Sorcha lets loose a long song, beautiful and melodious with high and low notes, a singing of joining and a story all it's own, asking for others to help fill in the blanks. Who would come, she wonders, yet she is content to wait on the lake side with her ears flicking to catch the sounds of any paws rustling through the brittle grass.