Thus begins the new life of Sorcha, cast out from her home by the gods and sent across a stormy sea unto a new land! The words tumble in her head as a wry smile curls across her lips. Sorcha sits at the head of an abandoned den in the foothills of the mountains with her black tail curled around her delicate paws as the morning dew begins to melt beneath the gentle haze of the sun. The world comes to life with squeaks, sighs, and birdcalls. A bird lands about a foot from her and cocks its head so that it's gleaming beady eye peers into her forest green and she stares back motionless for this creature is a messenger of the mountains, acknowledging that this was where she was meant to be. It almost seemed to bow its head before her before taking flight once more and turning back into a simple bird.

She had made her intentions known that she would like to be a storyteller and what better way than to begin now? At the cusp of dawn the children would be feeding or frolicking and waking their mothers with insatiable energy. Uncoiling her tail Sorcha stands, stretching slowly before trotting towards a small meadow closer to a babbling brook of mountain water where she knows a small rock sits off to the side. A perfect spot for her to perch while telling her stories to the children; hopefully they would come. Rhaegal, she thinks with a pleased look, would bring them.

The meadow is in a perfect spot for the sun peeks through the trees with iridescent light trickling down on the rock she intends. Sorcha moves to it and leaps in her graceful manner, more foxlike than anything, and seats herself without pomp. She gazes at the meadow a moment before lifting her maw and letting loose her musical song that invites all, children and adult alike, to come and hear a tale, a tale of adventure. Now all she has to do is await them to come seat themselves before her.