Once this place used to hold the yin and yang scenery of Blossom Field. Now, there are miles of winding tundra. To the north, this tundra is cruel and dry, with wisping weaves of tall grasses. The ground is cracked and cold, and it hardly is ever moistened by dearly desired rainfall. To the south, the tundra becomes more prosperous - meadows of flowers and herbs grace the ground. Part of this connects near Elebeam Weargtreow - however it is an impassible field of poppy, which will put any wolf trying to cross it into a deep slumber, and eventually die.

Those looking to hunt here will find mice, snakes, and rabbits, along with pronghorns, bison, and javalinas.

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I'm not a princess, oh no, don't you know? [open]
IP: 74.141.235.32

It is often that she prefers no more company than her own, and in these moments it is all that she has, the moon's light glittering in her cobalt blue eyes as she explores these new lands. These cobalt blue eyes are looking for exit routes should she come into trouble, as well as points of interest, just in case she should come to haunt this place in the future. There is soot laying in blankets over the ground as if everything had been destroyed in a single night's blaze, something that Phoenix can seem to empathize with. She has had to lift herself from the ashes of who she used to be many a time, again and again, to come back stronger and better, and that is what lands her still breathing these days, the ability to see herself change.

Her black stained paws touch the earth as gently as one might caress their lover, a mere whisper upon the ground that causes ashes to float up in her wake as she moved, and for a few moments she felt truly at home, in the silence of her surroundings and of a place burned to the ground, though something told her there was still life somewhere around. Cinnamon ears flicker as though she hears a faint something in the distance, though something in her gut tells her she wouldn't be alone for long. Behind her she leaves a trail of ashes and soot, stirred with a paw's print or two kissed deep into the gray powdered depths. Many would be lonely here, in a still dark night and walking through a tapestry of destruction. Some wolves might look for companionship or to turn back, but she was not a wolf like that.

Why should she not indulge herself? She seats herself upon her haunches, lifting a paw to sift through the soot and ash. Soot lifts as she seats herself, only to settle on her otherwise bright and vibrant coat. She has always preferred to be part of the background instead of front and center, she would rather be a supporting shoulder than one of the main girls. If she were to roll in the ashes of once living things, if she covered herself in the soot of a fire would she mask herself? Surely the grey powder would dirty and sully her bright hues, and nobody would have any sort of lasting interest of her.

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