Ceara’s descent into the deep wood was one made out of necessity. As the snowstorm approached ever nearer, she knew that if she did not make it into the trees, she would have little to no chance of survival. Not that she had much chance of survival regardless. This part of the forest did not look very inviting, and the ground everywhere was wet and cold. But, in the middle of winter, so was everywhere else. So, really, it didn’t matter where she went, or how long she spent looking for some kind of “real” shelter from the storm. She was probably going to die no matter what she did.
Being a wolf who had grown up never questioning authority didn’t mean that she had no sense of self-preservation. What it did mean was that she was, perhaps, more resigned to her fate than others. She still wanted to live, and would do what she could to ensure that she survived the storm. But if it was nature’s will that she die this day, then so be it. She worked methodically to try and open up a bigger space beneath the roots of a massive tree. The ground was easy to work with because it was muddy, but that also made it more difficult because the ground shifted too much sometimes.
Eventually, she had carved out a hole just big enough for herself, and was thankful that she was so small. A larger wolf would have had to dig even longer to create a decent shelter, and as she watched the first snowflakes fall, she was glad she was done digging. This shelter was by no means comfortable or warm, and it could very well prove to be dangerous. If the snow built up too much around the entrance to her little hole, she could end up being trapped there for who knew how long. But she didn’t care all that much. With no one of authority to order her around, she had no real reason to live. Not that she wanted to die. She didn’t. It was just that, with nothing to occupy herself with other than simple survival, she often found herself at a loss for what to do.
The only long-term goal she had was to try her hardest to find a new pack to join. A new pack – and new Alphas – would give her life purpose again. It seemed she had been born to serve, but servants need others, or there is no one to serve. Ceara thought on this as the snow slowly, and then more quickly, fell around her. As the wind picked up and the white flakes piled on the ground, she suddenly felt her vigor renew. She would find a new pack to serve if it killed her. As long as this snowstorm did not kill her first.
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