Overcast 38 ° F, 3 ° C - October 24th
*note* this is after she leaves FTC

A solid lunar month had come and went since the wraith pelted woman had cavorted over the boundaries of Fallen Tree Cove, shattering the invisible wall for good to feel the freedom of the open landscape beneath her dull onyx nails again. No longer held down under the pretext of swearing loyalty to another, admitting to all that she, Hexamora Beauvau was below another. Given the extensive time to branch out from the lake dwelling wolves and discover new places, where had she found herself? Miles of terrain remained unseen, yet here she was lollygagging within the charred remains of a once regal forest for what?

With each step of dainty paws small dust clouds of aged soot ascended into the air. Hex's single pine green optic finding nothing but cremated remains of the old timbers that once thrived here, scorched trunks of those that had survived the blazing flames and only if the she-wolf glanced close enough an array of vibrate green broke the monochrome colors of the wreckage in patches of new growth yet to be defeated by the first snowfall of the year. It would takes years before the wildwood would return to its former glory; a time and place foreign to the alabaster wolf, but nothing remained truly destroyed in Relic Lore.

Pausing her aimless meandering, small rounded audits rotated to and fro at the constant chatter of wildlife. A sign that this place was not entirely dead despite its disastrous appearance. Above the darkened silhouettes of ravens flying overhead created moving shadows on the ground below, the occasional field mouse scurrying across the charcoal littered ground to seek cover under the next homemade burrow. A look of disinterest etched upon Hex's frosted facial features. There was nothing here, yet why did she continue to linger?

"Speech."