Today must be a day for hauntings, as those presumed gone seemed to be ghosting back into the lands of Moladian. It was a fit day for it too, as silver mists wisp over the yellowing grasses, creating a slight haze that cooled the skin of things. Autumn held a brisk nip in the air, and the gypsy rose indulged herself with hearty lungfuls of it, feeling refreshed and invigorated by it's crispness. Orca was not a face that would be recognized by many anymore in these lands. Probably not even by most of her family, the mountain born girl had deeply tethered roots to this vast wilderness, that stemmed as far back as the meteor that carved this very valley into the heart of her homeland.

It had happened years ago, of course. And yet the monochrome dancer could recall that great catastrophe as if it were yesterday. She could still smell the sulfur permeating the air, the ash and dust snuffing out the sun for days as firestorms engulfed all the lands and burned them to cinders. So many were lost, orphaned, or scarred. And those scars linger still, in the heart of things, and on the face of Moladia as Mecor Valley. But now such scars were all but forgotten aside from those who had been there to feel the wounds inflicted first hand. And Mecore Valley was lush and living and pristine again. There is something very humbling about how quickly our Earth Mother can bounce back after taking such a heavy blow. Orca could feel a vibration that stemmed from the earth and into her toes, stretching up her legs into her core. A soothing feeling. A bond, to this place and this soil. That feeling of coming Home.

Though, it was not as strong as the draw Spirane. The first born daughter of Moonglow and Alcide felt the luring song of the mountains in her blood. It was reaching out for her, and this was why the gypsy, who had vanished in her wanderlust so many years ago, had finally found her pawsteps drawing her back to this land. Her biological clock was winding down, and it was finally time for the nomadic lady to find a place to rest her head for the long term... well... at least for however long her vitality lasted. And really, for her age Orca looked quite young, perhaps blame it on her gyspy soul. She had always been a daydreamer, childlike and full of a sense of innocence and wonder. Even if there were moments where she possessed wisdom beyond her years.

She followed the unseen paths, knowing the way by heart as she journeyed beyond the valley and towards the summits. She wondered as she went, what she might find there? Long the mountains had been the stronghold of her kin. And like the foundations of the mountain they lived upon, the descendants of Boneclaw and Thunderbone were unshakable. Arguably the strongest pack within Moladians history... if we are not counting in numbers. The Angels may rival the mountain wolves in quantity. But it was our deep roots that have held us steadfast upon the approaching peaks.

Has that strength persevered? The last that she had visited home, Daenerys was a young queen full of ambition. Have her children, my nieces and nephews, kept the realm within the family? Or would she be received by strangers? Orca made no announcements of her arrival, choosing instead to slink up the slopes into the higher elevations without drawing attention to herself, nimble paws scaling the ascent with the grace only mountainborn possessed, keen brown eyes peering with a soft easy curiosity as she sought out any familiar faces.