The promise of a storm dawning upon the land was approaching with a quickening pace, clouds overhead dark and foreboding, however Harlem refused to deny herself the drive to explore. Toes splayed to grip at the slick, muddied earth beneath her paws during her stride, only slowing to a brief halt when the trees around her expanded into a vast, vibrant clearing. The smell of various plants coiled around her senses, eventually luring her deeper into the open. Had she listened to the few lessons her elders gave about herbs, perhaps she would have gotten some use out of the ones surrounding her. Tough luck.
Solitary life was surprisingly less difficult to get accustomed to than Harlem expected prior to leaving the Grotto—most likely due to how openly opposed to it her packmates were—although for some reason, it still sounded strange to call herself a rouge. No longer the little Starlight and hardly ever a Bryte, anyway. Thank fuck.
Aside from the cluster of flowers surrounding her, the female was able to trace faint scents of other wolves wading through the meadow. Unfortunately, the rain had washed away the majority, leaving little to capture her interest.