Was that the winds of winter playing so delicately upon the breeze? It caressed the barren tree limbs as if coaxing them from their rooted strongholds and whistled through the evergreen needles of the ancient firs. Autumn had begun to die away from this place quietly, brisk days giving way to bitter evenings. The changes were subtle, a mere hymn instead of a symphony, but that was usually nature’s way. Of course, winter was the season of the wolf, they could feel it in their loins and deep down in their very bones. For it called to them like a beating of a fairy drum, singing a song for their souls alone.

Now Wrenrae was a fae of midsummer no doubt, for hers was a song of fairy lights and of night blooming jasmine beneath a pregnant moon. She was crafted of delicate magics, and as feminine as the cherry blossoms that blew away with the slightest of breezes. Hers was a warmth that rivaled the sun and soft and sweet as sugar plums. Youth ebbed from her, and perhaps a bit of naivety as well. But such was the trials and tribulations of the first years of one’s life. She would learn, nay she must learn, and now that she was on her own, only time would tell how quick a study she would be of this grand promenade called life. Away from her mother’s bosom, far from her father’s stern but always loving eye, she would seek to find the wings she would need to fly.

The ebony pixie was lithe and nimble as she danced through the long dead stalks of meadow, brittle and sun-bleached, it gave way easily as she pushed through it. Each delicate placement of paw over paw brought her further into this vast sea that seemed it swallow her almost completely. She had been traveling for months now, seeking out a place where the aroma of those like herself was plentiful. The endless mountains and deep valleys had a seemingly no end, and the cool autumn days made travel easy. But Wrenrae was not a wolf of solitude, her heart yearned for comradery. She had been raised a pack wolf and it was that which she aspired to now that she had left her familial pack. Her soft-spoken nature kept her from being a boisterous voice in the wind though, and she was uncertain where to seek others at, now that the air was so heavily laden with their scents. It did not seem that this place was a pack’s territory though, as she had not crossed any borders nor strongly marked monuments. But their scent was a recent flavor that still lingered, and it gave her hope that she might have come to the end of her lonesome journey.