What were they going to do? Chase her out? Bite her? Tell her off? Well, all of those would fail. If they expected to chase her, they better expect a pleasantly slow pace because there was no way she was going to tire herself out for no good reason; if they wanted to bite her, they'd better prepare themselves for some teeth back and a whole lot of shaming and as for telling her off? Well, that was easy: at her age, it was second nature to pretend to be deaf in order to shut those around you up. Realistically, they could do little more than watch her bound on over those pack lines with the bravado of somebody who had been born there (absolutely not true) and with the daintiness of a young woman (also not true) on her way to pick up some damn cockleshells...or whatever it was healers did. In any case, it was her day to shine and she wasn't going to let something as silly as a stinky path around a piece of land stop her from doing just that.

See, she had been born with a blessing and a curse. From her youth, she had seemingly been incapable of growing, well, beyond her youth. No matter how many years she packed on, her fur stayed fluffy and thick, her face small and sweet and yet, after sixteen years as a loner? After losing her home to some stupid flying rock and fire? Her father to that? To say her appearance did not match her nature was an understatement. She was as sweet and lovely as a spring flower and yet had the bite of an Iromar alligator. Or so, she liked to imagine it as such. Alligators were intimidating at least. Nobody really feared a whisp of a woman who looked like a lamb.

In any case, she immediately put on her old lady act as she crossed into the main area of Asteraia's territory; as she neared the shoreline with eager eyes, she did her best to hobble her stride and downcast her gaze, an ear lopsidedly hanging as she eyed off the strip of blue in the distance. She had chosen the middle of the day, hopeful these pack wolves would be too fat and tired from eating to stop her from feeling the sand between her paws. Not even another dumb apocalypse scenario could stop her.

Perhaps a bystander might have felt sorry for her as she hobbled along and down the rocky paths; she struggled, a deliberate effort made to drag her paws and pant as she clambered down. Yet, that would likely wear off the moment they saw her reach what beach there was below - as soon as her paws sunk into the sand, her face was alight as she stretched out with a relieved yawn, shaking her fur and picking up into a self satisfied lope. She ambled to the water, to the rocks, to the crabs and to whatever else looked even remotely familiar. It was all lies, all sweet lies, but for now she was happy to indulge in this fantasy as she sniffed at the salt and basked in the warmth of it all. Who was going to tell an old lady that Asteraia could never be Litherum?