ooc→ Loooodeeedoo. Let's pretend packs aren't important, because technically I'm not accepted into one, but I'm about to be unless something wikid weird happens and that's just creating a timeline mess for meeee~ Anyway hi.

For some reason, although the sharp, attentive yellow eyes had been peering out at this young wolf for some time from behind some wrinkled tree trunk, they had not come out to play. Instead, they watched, rarely blinking, set in the skull of a vigilant, marbled brown gargoyle of a wolf. Ozera was friendly enough, sure, but she smelled the buck too. Hungry as she was, Ozera knew she was in no shape to take something that smelled so healthy down by herself, or do anything brash that would cause the deer to on her and doll out the pain.

However, it appeared that this was not the case with sable yearling. As Ozera watched, she wondered why all the wolves she had met so far were either black and white. Was something messed up with her eyes? There must be. Regardless, the little wolf, who could not be more than a year old --if even that-- wanted to take down this beast on her own. Why is she even on her own? Where are her parents? But her reverie was interrupted by a sickening crack that nearly made her jump out of her skin. Peering out from behind the bark, matted with snow, she saw the buck crash back to the ground and fall back down, pivoting wildly, it's eyes demented and filled with fear as it raced away through the trees. Lying in the snow, she recognized the heap of black fur. With a mind full of worry, Ozera took a step forward. But the little wolf appeared to be alright, since she dragged herself back to her feet. She was bleeding, though, from a gash on her forehead.

"Are you alright?" she called warily, a hopeful smile on her face.

"Shouldn't you know not to take on a whole healthy deer all on your own?" Ozera laughed, but not unkindly. The question was not barbed with ill-intention, it just seemed like something very obvious like "don't eat the yellow snow" that this youngster had missed out on. Pity stung the older wolf as she took another cautious step in the direction of the wounded. Even if she claimed she was fine, doubt flickered in Ozera's eyes of deep gold, for the scarlet rivulet trickled freely down their shockingly vibrant eyes as they murmur red words barely audible. Her ears pricked forward keenly as she observed droplets like crimson tears stain the snow.

Ozera swept her tail of brown gradient woven disjointedly with long white threads of fur. It was long but unkempt, ruffled, unwilling to obey the current of fur. Instead, about her shoulders and hind quarters, her pelt churned and wrinkled like spiteful whitecaps tossed about at sea. Nervously, Ozera swung her head back to try and preen her billowing, deep, earthy shoulder fur as she tried to pick up the shaking, feeble voice of this injured little one. "No," she replied softly, her voice slipping from her mouth, gently carried upwards with her frost-fog breath, "I don't think anyone owns the place. Certainly not me."

Although the yearling claimed that she needed to feed herself, and it was a logical enough statement, Ozera chuckled softly. "There is much easier, safer game out there than deer, hun. Rabbits don't fight back so much." Even in the heart of winter, there was still food out there if you had senses marked by years of experience. But it wasn't fair to think that, she supposed, because this little shrimp had not had such opportunities to learn. Momentarily, Ozera wondered, deeply perplexed, as to how she could have survived on her own with a mind set and hunting skills like that. The black wolf was small, even for her age. Perhaps her growth was stunted by her lack of food. Suppressing the pity welling up inside of her throat, Ozera decided that this little scrap of ebony did not need her pity. Small and bleeding though she may be, she was here, wasn't she? She was alive, and that deserved a lot of credit.

"No need to be sorry, you paid for your mistake," with a wave of her muzzle she indicated the freely bleeding souvenir the deer had left her. "You should really try and stop the bleeding. Head wounds are a doozy." But the yearling just walked and sat down in front of her, looking into her eyes through those wild eyes of startling blue eyes. Deeply unsettled by this rather unnatural color, Ozera found herself looking away. Instead her eyes instead snagged on the pinpricks of milk-white snow whirling gently to the ground, borne by the gentle fingers of wind.

Having been a loner for most of her life, Ozera knew how to be careful. Without a pack around, she could not afford to be sick or wounded, because then she would be rendered unable to care for herself, and she would most certainly die. As clumsy as she was, she guessed she was lucky. At any rate, she could recognize when a situation was dangerous or not. That being said, it left her with an abysmally limited medicinal knowledge, which hadn't included spider webs. She could not imagined that such fine gossamer strands could be of any real use. What would their purpose be? Dark and mottled shoulders shrugged: it mattered little to her. Clearly the other wolf knew what they were for, but it was of little difference since there would be none around. "You should at least lay down, and try not to move too much. The faster your blood pumps, the faster it pours out of your head. Put your paw up against it, something like that." All knowledge in this case was merely practical, common sense.

Asked for her name, she opened her jaws, her breath rolling out in a thick, white smokestack, "Ozera. But I'll go by any nickname you can come up with. And you, young stranger? What would you like to go by?" Her conversational skills were caked in rust, and it probably showed: she smiled too much, or at least she felt like she did. Still getting used to company, she had this habit of just throwing out whatever was on her mind, like: "My parents are dead. I know... Well, that's... Not to say yours are dead too. But I'm guessing you're not with them. And, maybe I don't understand completely what you're going through... If.. You're going through something. But I've been there, although I was a bit older than you. I miss them terribly." Smiling warmly, she hoped she hadn't just taken a step onto thin ice.

ooc - Yep! I'm pretty sure you can. Just do what you did the first time I guess. Although, if you have more questions I'd ask the admins, since I'm new here.

Well, Ozera thought as her eyes followed the small wolf to the rock, At least she's keeping it clean. Sure would make for a nasty infection. It was dreadfully easy for wounds to get infected when a wolf spent the day traipsing through the forest. And in the dead of the winter as icy and brutal as this one, what sort of treatments would be available? Any sort of plants and roots had been killed by the bitter, snapping jaws of the frost. She did not voice these concerns, nonetheless, because she did not, absolutely did not want to worry this little-- what was her name? Kauda. She did not want to worry Kauda, who was clearly haunted by enough as it was.

Listening intently to the tale of Kauda pained her. It was awful, gut-wrenchingly awful to be separated from those you love. Even worse to have their memories suspended in limbo while your mind contemplated whether to file them in the "dead" or "alive" file cabinet. "At least I know my parents are dead. I can't imagine what it's like to wonder whether or not it's worth it to hope they're alive. I'm sorry." While she. spoke, Ozera had been moving closer, and now she stood above Kauda, looking down at her, feeling something in her breast. She had heard of this feeling before, but never felt it herself. What had it been called? Maternal instinct, something like that. Ozera did not dwell on this, though, because she was more confused by Kauda's usage of a word that sounded completely foreign: tornado. But this probably was not the time to ask. Whatever this tornado was, it was obviously a type of storm, a very dangerous one, and Ozera just couldn't ask Kauda to relive that memory and watch her sister be torn from her side all over again.

"My parents were alphas. They were killed in an uprising, and I had to run away. I still feel so guilty. Maybe I could have saved them, done something, I don't know. But instead I was a coward, I ran. And I ran for nearly three years. It was an interesting three years, at least." She thought back fondly on those years shrouded in wanderlust and wonder, of fields of wildflowers every color of the rainbow, more colors than she had names for, vast bodies of water that tasted funny, mountains so tall that the tops were lost in the clouds. She sighed, and perhaps she was being a little precocious, but she found herself sinking down to the side of Kauda, lying beside her, protecting her from the wind. "Would you like to here about it?"