Word Count: 390
Ceara looked around her, wondering where on Earth she was. As the place was covered in a foot of snow already, it was hard to tell what sort of landscape she was in, but it was definitely… odd. And not a great place to find shelter for the evening. From what she could smell through the wet and cold, this was a place full of vegetation. Not that every other place wasn’t full of vegetation. Only… this sort of vegetation smelled different from what she was used to. It smelled very… mushroom-y. Underneath the cold, there was an overwhelming scent of earthiness that you only got from mushrooms. She had never been surrounded in so much mushroom smell before.
Other than the vegetation, Ceara was detecting no signs of life anywhere. Which was bad. No prey meant no food, and no food meant starvation. This was just one of the many, many reasons she wished she were part of a pack again. However, it seemed fate had been unkind to her and had made her enter the most uninhabited part of Relic Lore. She had been wandering in the cold for days, surviving off of snow and the occasional mouse or two. Her hunger did not bother her, though. At least, not so much as other things did. Like the fact that she was without a pack.
Packs were good for all sorts of reasons, but they seemed especially good for her. Being subservient by nature made it difficult to know what to do when she was on her own. She thrived on orders, on the hierarchy of pack life. Being the lowest rung on the ladder meant that she was used to doing what others told her to do. Without an alpha to boss her around, her life had no meaning or direction. She was desperate to be part of a family again, even if she had to go back to being the lowest-ranking member. She had never minded that before. Someone had to play the part of the punching bag, after all. If she was stuck with the part, then so be it.
But where was the nearest pack? She hadn’t caught the scent of another wolf in days. With a sigh, she fwumped down on her belly, not caring that she was getting wet from the snow.
The way she shows me I'm hers, and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine