It had not been long ago that the dark warrior was tasked with getting some of the younger wolves in Glorall to train with her. Of course, being the head warrior of the pack would entail teaching. It was an obstacle she would have to hurdle over, in order to be a teacher one had to speak. But, she believes she conveyed her meaning enough to Eden when she asked for this title, surely she could do it with a couple of yearlings.
It is this that brings her ash and coal carriage to his door, diamond eyes darkening with disappointment and confusion. Why would he not be in his den? Was he off birthing his own cubs, or seeing to some other pack duty? She could not be sure, especially of the former, not that it would matter much in the long run. He was an alpha, and she was but a lowly, delicate seeming warrior. A tomboy of sorts, she would call herself, though she was much more than that. Lips part to reveal pearl white fangs against the inky black of their encasement, bristling hackles raised in aggravation that she be damned to find her king over and over.
Curse her broken voice! How she longed to sing and call his highness to her, instead she had to chase him about like vermin to be hunted. Long athletic strides eat up the sand, black flag above her hips as she sails toward the silvered ivory male, following his trail until she picks up the scent of blood. Slate colored ears lace back against her skull, brilliant blues wide open as she scents it. Alarm moves through her form and she is worried for her king - as she can recognize only his scent out of the metallic mess in the air.
She proceeds with caution, her steps light as air as she searches him out. A silent whimper moves her throat but never makes it to fruition as she moves closer to the treeline. Surely, her king would not leave if he were injured.
Her haunches hit the dirt before she does something foolish like chase her tail, the complexity of this dilemma not truly coming together with clarity for the young wolf. Still, instinct demands she wait, the smell of a female now mixing in with the blood. It gave Apollymi some measure of relief, knowing he was not hurt, but it was still in her nature to wonder about the safety of a wolf so close to the border in such a state. Deciding not to wait, her oceanic eyes move about, finding a thick stick and smirking at her brilliance. If she could not vocalize her wish, she would knock at his door. Picking up the surprising tool, Apollymi moves to a tree and starts smacking the stick against the trunk to gain the attention of Eden. She knows he is nearby, but something tells her not to go into the deeper recesses of the woodland bordering her seaside home.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
female - five - glorall - meltdown x snowshoe