The principal object of the thoughts that were driving Cessair all over the Lore consisted mainly of packs. Now more than ever, she felt that she simply needed to quit her loner ways and pursue more than her own individual interests. Just which pack should she join, though? The amber-eyed girl was making too big a deal of it, she was sure. Certainly she could convince herself to be loyal to any pack that would take her in? This train of thought led only in big circles, and Cessair's mind was growing as exhausted as her paws. In search of any other subject to dwell on, her eyes turned up to the sky. Dark clouds blanketed the sky in a satisfyingly melancholy display that matched her own current dismal air. It could rain any moment.
Just as the moisture dropped onto Cessair's back in a light drizzle, she was forced to stop moving to investigate a rather sudden change in terrain. She looked down at her paw to find that it was crushing the stalk of a lovely red flower. In absent confusion, she dropped her head down to give the bloom a sniff. She had never seen such a flower before, and in a sudden wave of guilt for having killed it, she stepped backward. This time when she looked up, her gaze got no further than the horizon, as the entire sweep of her vision up to that point was filled with the sight of these colorful wildflowers. Forgetting all of her previous thoughts, Cessair leapt into the gently swaying field of flowers and immediately began to prance and roll around, relishing in the scarlet sea and its intoxicating fragrance in puppyish abandon.
Clumsily ambling along in this manner, Cessair left a trail of bent stalks and crushed blooms as the drizzle settled into a rain. The little girl, now sufficiently satisfied with and distracted by the fiery flowers' scent, straightened up and immediately noticed an oddity. Breaking the beautiful monotony of the flower-covered rise was a sudden line of mushrooms, standing at attention in a way that the delighted Cessair could only describe as adorable. Without a second thought, the damp brown form marched along in front of the line, imagining herself a pack leader sizing up her subjects and encouraging them for a hunt. A minute's continuance in such a manner brought Cessair suddenly upon the scent of a wolf. The rain made it difficult to analyze, but it smelled recent and worried her greatly. One more confirming whiff brought her to the embarrassing realization that the scent was none other than her own. Stepping back, Cessair could see that the mushrooms weren't in a line at all, but rather a giant circle. Her mood in no way dampened by this prospect, she playfully jumped into the center of the circle for the sheer joy of being in the middle and resumed her shameless rolling.