Nymphnora had walking for days in a sort of tired hopelessness. Everything seemed surreal. If she ever allowed herself to think about her family, she would be struck with another round of grief, often having to stop and have a good cry before continuing onward. Funny thing about not thinking about something, though. If you concentrated on not thinking about a thing, you would have to think about it to think about not thinking about it.
She didn't even know where she was going. All she knew was that something inside of her had needed to get away, and she had just kept moving. It was called inertia. Something in motion, without an force to stop it, stayed in motion. At least that was what she thought it was.
Then she scented pack boundaries. Her first reaction was that of desperate hope, despite the icy shell she was trying to build. These wolves could help her. But... Her mother had told her that packs didn't like other wolves in their territory. Actually, she had said that the Stallionsdidn't like other wolves in their territory, but it seemed like a universal thing.
Have you read my player preferences?