when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
She cannot be contained and this fact is something the wolf-girl is rather aware of. Sometimes the wolf (though a separate part of her; a piece that is wholly herself yet works in partnership) and the instincts that come with it are much too strong for the equine part of her and she will find herself in the form of a dusty rose wolf more often than not. She is not lost within the shape, not at all; only giving in to the impeccable senses that come with the canine, satisfying both tooth and claw by taking to the cold mist of the forests. The frigid winter air seems to have called to her; wrapping around the thick scruff of the rose-gray of her neck, pants of breath leaving blackened lips in puffs of warm air around her shining black nostrils.
Padded feet carry the large yet slender wolf through dampness of the freshly fallen snow and bitterly still pine trees. The sun is hidden beneath grey snow clouds as flames filter through the dark canopy, shedding a mystical white frost to linger on the forest floor. A mixture of dirt and snow cling to the underside of her belly and darken the once-ivory of her powerful legs - a disheveled appearance for such a majestic creature, though her fluidity and poise throughout the winding forest made up for that fact.
Blood has dried to a dark rust on the bottom of her chin and around her snout, nearly as brown as the dark coffee of her inquisitive and intelligent irises that scour the landscape with each bound over fallen tree, smooth boulder, or large root. A sound - one that is minute and insignificant - catches the sensitivity of her ears and the wolf slows her quiet lope to a trot, lifting her head quizzically to sample the stillness of the air around her. Her nose twitches, the coldness of snow pooling across her back and haunches as she stands frozen, listening. Her brow furrowing slightly as the scent remains unfamiliar yet harmless. She huffs, the sound muffled in her closed lips but strong enough to break through her teeth and travel through the quiet, still forest to whatever may lay within the shadows.
Curious, the wolf picks up a gentle trot towards the scent, the soft snow muffling her steps.
What she finds is a young filly as white as the snow that falls from the deep grey skies, with ink black markings across her skin. Daye halts within the shadows for a moment, merely watching her. The wolf’s black nose twitches, her keen sense of smell allowing her to decide that there is another shifter in front of her.
The silently wolf comes out of the shadows and begins to follow the white and black filly openly, her head tilted curiously at her.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
@[Mazikeen] super rusty so I apologize! But I’m looking forward to them meeting
