Ella had rampaged across the north-west of Moladion, having stuck her nose into just about every nook and cranny she could during her time alone. Eventually, she had been called for – or rather, she had finally decided to answer the call – and she had returned to Morgan in the southern crags to rest and rekindle herself. It came as a surprise to neither of them that she had to get her paws back out there soon enough though, and she’d been off once again come one early morning. Morgan had found them a decent enough patch of territory in the crags to ground them once the spring floods had passed, giving way to the summer winds. It had been a cave entrance once, perhaps, but it had been long caved in; a small, slow stream of water creeped out from the tangle of boulders at the back of their ‘home,’ and it overlooked a small, stony path of sorts while still keeping them relatively out of sight. She thought about it as she roamed here and there, thinking of what would be waiting for her when she decided to turn back again – pheasant? or rabbit, maybe, with berries snatched from the thickets and bushes towards the forest-side. She licked her lips and gave her body a quick shake to dissipate her hunger as if it were dust. Her time spent as a vagrant with Morgan had taught her a valuable lesson – when you were hungry and had nothing to eat, a deep drink of water could trick your stomach into silence. And so, she bounded off towards the smell of river-mud and water.

Ella wasn’t oblivious to other wolves, per se, but rather their intentions – or at least, their body language. Any wolf who might have looked at the burned girl for long might have noticed her lack of interest in the things around her, a kind of single-minded goal that did not allow for an intruder. Then again, that same wolf might have noticed the tension in her, an unspoken ‘no’ before any kind of question was even asked. As for Ella? Well, she saw somebody and that was that. Wolves were social by nature, after all, or so she had been taught by her mother all those years ago – Morgan had tried to teach her otherwise, but Ella was as stubborn as they came. She gave herself a lop-sided grin and followed the other girl towards the water, stopping several feet away and taking that deep drink she had been thinking of.

She looked to the other girl then, curious about the scars that did more than mark her – Ella thought she looked more scar than fur, but she didn’t think it was such a bad thing. Everybody had their imperfections, no? Ella had been given a permanent smirk of a snaggle, a gash across her face and a more-than-noticeable chip out of her ear...and not to mention however-many other scars across her body and paws from years of scrapping and roaming. If anything, the scars of the other girl made Ella immediately like her. Anybody with scars like that, she thought, had to be damn tough!

"Oh aye, is the wading good?” She hadn’t been there long at all, and she’d not risk waiting much longer to speak lest the other girl think she’d come just to gawk. Ella? Nah! She had been thirsty, and the promise of company had just been a boon - she hadn’t even stopped to consider the company before she’d bounded on over. She’d just gotten lucky in that department. "I always got told ‘oh, a dust bath is how ye’ stave off the heat’ but I’m reckoning that was wrong if you’re in there looking all that more comfortable,” she mused with a small frown and a shake of her head. Sure, there hadn’t been many wading pools in the dry-lands but it seemed like a silly thing to say nonetheless. Dust baths! Pah – she'd hated them if only because they’d taken so much damn effort compared to laying in the shade or, well, just not living in a damn dust bowl as it were. At least the stranger she’d managed to find had a better mind in that little head of hers.