She wandered as she had for over a year now, her small, delicate feet carrying her this way or that as flippantly as a leaf on the wind might move. There was no real purpose to her wanderings, no end point, rhyme or reason as with most things about this slip of a girl. Her feet moved because they thought they should and her body followed though her thoughts oft drifted to times long past. Occasionally past would mingle with present, things she had seen, those she had met appearing before her very eyes as they had before. She would offer them a smile that reached the vacantness within her eyes only seen by some passerby. Mumbled words of greetings that while extended to the persons she saw fell only upon the ears of the wildflowers that grew at her feet more often than not.

It is pure chance that leads her to the borders of Glorall just as the brilliant summer sun was beginning its decent for the evening. Raven, the girl she had met on her first entrance into this world, had asked if she was a healer and those words had sparked something deep within the recesses of her mind, a word, an occupation that she knew held meaning and that she knew she had knowledge about, however disconnected that knowledge might be now. With this she traveled from place to place picking this flower or that, storing them in piles out in the open and then forgetting to bring them with her as she left, leaving odd markers of her travels across all of Moladion. Yet today she nears the well-marked borders of the sea-faring pack and as she approaches it comes to a dead halt as if she has hit an invisible wall, which for all intents and purposes she has.

Her delicate head rises as she sniffs the air, a sort of puzzled look on her features as if not entirely sure why, exactly she cannot pass. Instinct is the prevailing factor that would not just let her pass the border unauthorized more to prevent her from meeting her death and yet that does not quite process to the cognizant part of her brain. Just across the border, however, lay a patch of poppies brilliant red against the green of the landscape and hence her determination to get to them and the inability to do so. Instead she paces, as if she could get around this barrier by skirting around it, but naturally to no avail. It leaves her walking back and forth, ice and violet eyes locked on the smattering of flowers just outside of her reach, head tilting this way and that in confusion and anxiety.

Eventually she gives a gaping yawn as evidence of her apprehension at the entire situation before plopping her delicate frame to sit directly in front of her target. “It is. It is. It is again,” she says, her light voice ringing out to the open air finally with a sort of defeated tone. One chocolate paw reaches out to dig into the loose, sandy soil in a repetitive motion, as if she might dig her way to her goal before her face scrunches up in frustration, cream lines mingling with the dark brown of her mask. “Thus bad begins and worse remains behind!” Her words begin as a whisper before escalating to a shout that echoes in the openness surrounding her.