| And I plan to be...
Nzingha had always had a little flare for the… well the dramatics. When she had bombarded through the boundaries of Abendrot, she had made certain assumptions. First of all, that Kershov was still the Alpha, which clearly he wasn’t. Secondly, she had assumed that her little gift would amuse Kershov to let Danger go – another assumption that was highly unlikely. But most fatal of all, she had thought that her stunt had been brave and courageous, something that Kershov would admire. He had, afterall, originally enjoyed her brutal honesty, her need to say everything that was on her mind. But it had not be brave or courageous, but naïve and stupid. He could have killed her on the spot without anyone blinking an eye for her transgressions, and it was only luck (though she did not see it as such) that Grey Wind held the throne and not Kershov. But this had been her one plan, her one idea about how to get Danger released, and so the pitiful amount of hope that she held on to strained to prevail. This, of course, had then led to her outcry – her desire for something that simply could not be. Ill-chosen words had poured from her throat as she disrespected both Grey Wind as the Alpha and Summer, for all that he had taught her. Grey Wind, instead of punishing her as he had the right too, had been remarkably calm and understanding and had questioned her about Danger. Frustrated and upset, Nzingha had burst into tears and ran off, completely forgetting the coyote’s carcass as she ran and paying no heed to her own wounds. Pools of salty fluid had swept down into the scrapes on her face, stinging her, and this bloody, salty mess had dripped into her gaping maw as she ran, sobbing and crying, an utter mess, out of Abendrot and toward Blossom Field
There, she had met a fae who held a brute’s name, oddly enough, who had seen to her wounds. Infection and debris had been stripped away, and so while Nzingha now was sorer than ever, as least she did not smell like something was dying. Where once there had been purulent material seeping from the gapes in her flesh, now there was a thin, pink, shiny bed of granulation tissue. If she was lucky – and thus far she had been – they would pull the cuts together and her hair would regrow. But if not, scars would form, leaving her disfigured and a far cry from the normal ideology of beauty. Luckily enough – apparently she was full of luck – Nzingha had no care for beauty. Her mother had been beautiful, but died. Shae, the femme who had raised her, had died, which she had learned on her travels. Nzingha wanted nothing less than to be beautiful. And so she took no care in her motions, not minding if she tore the fragile healing flesh and sinew, not caring if it scarred. At least then if she died, it would not be because of her beauty. It was an odd thought, and an odd desire, not wanting to die due to beauty, but it was hers nonetheless.
And here now she was, trotting back the way she had come, a great deal cleaner and calmer than the rampaging varg had been before. As she moved through the land, she was acutely away of each aching muscle, and the sharp sting as her flesh tore when she extended her limbs, reaching too far for comfort. And then of course her eyes – they were bright due to her health, but they had lost the spark within them. The want for excitement was gone, as was the desire for adventure. She wanted peace and quiet, she wanted Danger back, and she never wanted to hold a bit of responsibility ever again. Dry pools swept the land as she moved, and found herself surprised that everywhere she turned, the plants were dead or quite near to it. How long had she been gone? When had spring turned to summer, and when had the heat become so goddamn unbearable? The very earth burned against her weary paws, causing her to hasten her pace, and yet the quicker pace and the heat then made her tire faster. It was a vicious cycle, yet she pressed on. She nearly collapsed with relief, when after hours of travel she made it to Abendrot’s border. It was not home, it could never be home, but it was a haven for her. Under Grey Wind’s rule, she had access to it and would be protected there.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the lithe frame crossed over and took a turn, following the scent that flowed fully into her nares. Each breathe brought new information about where her uncle was, how long ago he had been there, and by following it, she knew she would find him, and perhaps answers. When her eyes caught sight of him, along with two other vargs, she exhaled and found herself relaxing a bit. At least she had found him. Slowly, she approached and quickly tucked her plume between her limbs, her sheepish guilt at how she had previously acted in front of these two wolves showing quickly as she neared them. Briefly, the most random of thoughts invaded her mind as she stared at the female and scoffed quietly under her breath, which earned her a brow raise of Halina who was obviously amused by the picture Nzingha painted. But Nzingha’s reason for the sudden exasperation was simple – Halina was well scarred, and yet somehow was still beautiful… so much for her plan…
“Uncle, Marx, I must apologize for my prior rudeness. I was quite out of sorts, but no excuse is acceptable for how I previously acted. May I offer up my apologies and make amends, and then hastily and perhaps prematurely ask for your help?” Once more her gaze flickered to the other female, and she winced, seeing the sneer upon Halina’s façade. “My… my name is Nzingha. I’m Grey Wind’s niece. And you are?”
OOC- <3
the last one standing
|| Warrioress||Teen of Lady and Zorion Summer|| No Mate || No Kin || Munashii Gekko ||
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