Sex: Female Hunger mounted in her belly, and her prospects grew more and more glum by the minute. There was a sigh of apprehension as she failed once more in her hunting attempts, having fumbled on the leap to result in landing short of the rabbit that promptly raised out from underneath her nose in an almost taunting manner. She had begun to grow more thin, simply from the nature of what it was to be a lone wolf as winter began to set in… her mother? Still missing, which troubled her greatly all the same. She didn’t fully understand what had happened, all she knew was that her mother had told her to run, and she had. And she missed her… dearly… and asked about her every night, begging for her to return despite the ways she was told it would not be happening. Why not? She was a Princess, their little Princess, and that meant she could get whatever she wanted! There was anger in it’s place… an anger that she could not seem to find her, and that no one seemed to care. She continued to grow increasingly small in an ever large world… the new places she found did not have the same excitement they once did… the wolves around her did not have the same joy. It all grew darker, and it was her mother telling her to run and then abandoning her that had caused it to happen. Even Papa was gone now! And that brought it’s own form of misery… a misery met by the harsh realities a pup should not yet have to face… a harsh Cinderella story in reverse for the once Princess. There was a gentle whine that escaped her maw, her nose twitching as her belly rumbled once more in protest. ”Speech" |
Despite the fact that the pale girl had asked the question first, with little respect or signs of curiosity in her tone, she was taken aback when the question was turned on her. Was it not obvious? A gentler shiver ran down her spine at the question, her ears pressed against her skull as her nose twitched and she debated how she was to answer. There was hesitation, though the cause of it was unclear even to the girl. “Clouse?” She chose instead to question the name, feeling that it was uncomfortable on her tongue, strange compared to the more gentle names of Anatole or Woya or Adelard. They simply flowed better to her.
“Brielle.” She would finally state, deciding that she indeed to offer up a name of her own. In the back of her mind, her mother scolded her for being rude, or her father reminded her to mind her manners… such things were rare, but in their absence she would superimpose her own subconscious onto their images and allow them to continue guiding her. She simply wished they would hurry up and return to her so she might actually learn how to deal with these situations.
“What are you doing here?” She would follow up with another question, her eyes cautiously lingering on the man, a hesitant step backwards as she recalled her mother telling her to run from a stranger the last time she had seen her.