The russet wolf with intricate dustings of cinnamon and chocolate and black had long last decided it was time to emerge from the background. It had been several years since she had decided to make the heart of the forest that made up Taviora her home. And after the day she had paid a visit to the graves of her Father and Mother, Isolde had withdrawn from the entire pack and kept to herself up until this very day. Perhaps it was the passage of time itself that finally drew her out, or perhaps the aching loneliness that had begun to well up inside of her, threatening to consume her from the inside out.

For what was the life of a pack wolf without her pack, what was her life without her family? Something had happened inside of her the day she had stood before those graves, something she couldn't understand and still she did not yet understand it. Isolde felt different from herself, and yet not, and the worry it gave her contributed to the consequences of her pulling back from pack life. For while once her feminine frame was lean with muscle- she took very much after Rhae, without the evident largeness- now she was rather thin and had a gaunt look about her. Moladion had steadily been growing more and more bountiful over the last few years, but living on her own in the heart of the forest meant that she had to stick to the smaller prey.

Moose and boar were out of the question, and even wild turkey often seemed to be more trouble than they were worth. The birds were typically skittish but for whatever reason, perhaps because she was all on her lonesome, the flocks she ever came across had tendencies to gang up on her instead of scattering. It made things complicated. That left the squirrels and the raccoons; the latter being nocturnal and not something Isolde found herself terribly familiar with. A squirrel was an okay meal, for a little while, but as time went on it was more and more evident that what she was doing wasn't cutting it. There was something else, for sometime within that isolation of hers she had experienced a shift and she had been left with an almost hollow sort of feeling. It might have been because she had been born to an imprinted pair, or because she just felt her imprint in the way that she did, but Isolde had known when their bond had been severed.

She had experienced pain, a true and white, hot blinding pain, but it had passed by as quickly as it came for their bond was not one that had ever had a true opportunity to take hold. She remembered his name, Segin, and it was not one she would forget. But when she thought of him and his pale golden white pelt she did not feel pain. She did not miss him. She didn't even know if she had ever even liked him and she was certain he hadn't liked her, not for a moment. He had been conflicted over her, unsure, and more than a little unstable. Memories of them were ones Isolde did not hold dear to, and it was fuel for another resolution to create newer, better memories instead.

Maybe the want to be around others is what truly drove her from the heart of the forest, toward the scents of her fellow pack mates, knowing that the deep and ancient scent of the woods around her permeated her entire being. There would be no doubt of her status within the pack land, even if she had never earned any rank as a result of her disappearance. She had not yet earned one, though she knew that would soon change. But first, to reacquaint herself with her fellow pack mates would be a better and smaller, first step, and her russet ears are perking forward as the trail she has begun to follow reveals a silver wolf lounging at her den. The female is not a wolf she knows, though she seems to be around Isolde's own age and her ethereal appearance gives her a further air of youth. Passing by a vast assortment of wildflowers which give her a smile at the thought of her Mother showing her all the colors and shapes and sizes of flowers in Asteraia, the russet wolf is making her approach friendly and just loud enough so that the stranger won't be startled.

"Greetings, my fellow forest friend." Even after all these years, her naturally jovial and cheery self was evident and she could only be grateful. She had seen what lack of socialization could do to a wolf as evident in the monsters that had moved into Asteraia after the fall of Rhae. But she was not one of those wolves; she never would be, and it was important that she not continue to fret and dwell on the past. The present was here, before here, and it was where she was meant to be. Though she knew the wolf was of her pack, the scent of salt had not been lost to her either. Curiosity had always been strong in her, and Iblis had instilled a fierce sense of manners. "You may call me Isolde, my dear lady, and what may I have the pleasure of calling you?" Smiling to the other and hardly pausing for a moment, for she didn't want to miss a beat, she aims to give them both a sense of familiarity and camaraderie. "Have you been to the ocean recently? I knew the ocean to the east but your salt scent is a bit different. I miss it." Though she does her best to keep her words light hearted, the mention of her once home beneath the reign of her parents has her reminiscing.

Isolde does not mean to remain in the past so much, but after so long alone she was hopeful that interaction with others would help her heal and help her to do better for herself. Not only for herself, but for her parents who had been lain to rest in the forest somewhere not close to their current location. For her siblings who were all out there, somewhere, doing something and perhaps loving someone. For her darling niece, who she was so very proud of and needed to pay a visit to- very, very soon. Starting with the pale wolf in front of her, she had finally made her choices that would lead to her recovery, and slowly but surely the knight child of Iblis and Rhae would at last return to her former self, and then some.