To some it might have seemed harsh, to be cast out from one's home without so much as a prayer for good fortune. In Sorren's mind, however, it was only natural—she had been warned that it would be so as a young pup, and had trained for it for all her life. When she and her litter mates had reached their first birthday, they were set to face different directions before being chased off by the pack that had raised them. It was a right of passage.
She had known, too, that she had been followed closely for a time—not for protection, but to ensure that she did not attempt to reunite with her siblings. "You must make a new name for yourselves," they had been told, "Do not cling to your past." Sorren would obey, for it was the way of things. But she couldn't help but wonder how it was possible to simply start fresh.
It was also very likely that she would die.
Somehow, though, she had survived two months on her own—stamina was her greatest strength, and she was swift on her feet. Though Sorren was never likely to overpower an opponent, she could outmaneuver and outlast them. These talents had only grown stronger during her time alone; evading larger predators and skirting around dangerous territories. She had scavenged for food and taken down small prey when her body yearned for more energy, but she did not weigh herself down with a full belly. Sorren would go until she could go no more, and that was where she'd search for a new home.
She couldn't say how she found herself in this marshland, and it would not have been her first choice for stopping... but her entire body ache, and her belly screamed for nourishment. With winter coming soon, she would need to establish herself within a pack's ranks—or she would die. So, giving in to her body, Sorren soaked her sore forepaws in a pool of water. Though it was not particularly clean water, thirst and hunger got the best of the yearling, and she bent her head down to steal a drink.