Wanderings, Wonderings, Windings of a Wolf

The general path that a werewolf named Anya took (is taking) after running away from a group of wolves that wanted to create a pack. (and possibly to be used after that... XD" It's really just an open topic.) The scenery and placement of each area will be described either here or in each post. Each new area of this will be open to anyone else that wants to join in and will be listed under the link to the post preceding Anya's (or her companions') venture out into the wilds of the world. I'll put the page number of each below, along with a brief description if it's needed. Also, if one area get too crowded, then I'll split it off into a separate topic.

https://dicotomy.rpg-board.net/strid-f1/restaul-outskirts-t169-90.htm
page 1
<no description yet>

At first, it was the angry broil of anger and disgust that kept Anya pounding on, her feet carrying her deeper and deeper into the uncharted forests before it changed, transmogrified into a mechanical act, a mind-numbing task with no goal.

The sharp scent of pines wet from the storm that dogged her footsteps for the first day melted to the softer embrace of sun-dried loam at the edge of fields, the pungent stink that spoke of cows and fertile pastures as the grasses sighed their way into their winter sleep, and the hot, metallic sting of stones baking in the unseasonably warm autumn sun. She skirted small rural villages, where the inhabitants picked at their crops, singing or grumbling with the bounty of their harvest; she bathed in remote lakes while the soft smile of the moon spilled shining sickles on the curled back of the ripples; she slept in the dappled shade of the trees as they dripped their fiery foliage. For weeks, Anya wandered, for no aim but to lose herself in the wilderness that surrounded her.

Here, in the wilds of the country, in the savagery and peace of the untouched fringes of society, Anya found a type of contentment. It was bitter and deep with loneliness, like the streams that hissed down from the mountains, but it was comforting in its own right. As her days wound on like a spinner's thread, her furious anger throbbed and bled away, lost among the soft chirrups of songbirds as they fled South from the biting winter winds. The weather began to turn harsher, colder. There were times when the were didn't need to think; she simply needed to survive.

Even with food and safety as scarce as they were, Anya refused to rely on the Wolf's cunning, opting instead for her own clumsy skill with a knife and fire. Despite Anya's continued disgust and disdain, the Wolf reveled in these new circumstances. Here, Anya did not resist the Wolf's influence and even allowed the feral mind run more freely. Though she would never admit it, Anya discovered the elation the Wolf felt in running.

It was only at night, before moonrise and after sunset, when the skies sparkled like the glories of Heaven fractured and reflected infinately over the sharp, beseeching arms of the slowly turning trees that Anya remembered. She remembered and howled her despair and loneliness to the empty night until she forgot again, curled up in the warm oblivion of sleep.

(Note: Nearly a month has passed since Anya had left Restaul.)

The quiet hiss and patter of the rain receded as the storm took its conversation elsewhere, leaving behind puddles of punctuation where the rain had been especially sure to make its point. It had been a cold, drenching rain that had lasted the whole night and into the morning, so it was with bleary, weary eyes that Anya peeked from the shelter she had hastily slung together from a convienent branch, some stoes, and a large tarp. "Ugh, at least that's over."

The were tumbled out and stood, shaking out her rather weather-beaten old raincoat brisquely. She had kept suprisingly dry this time, although it was more of a testament to her practice than her skill at campsettign that had kept the rain away. Sighing, Anya slung her backpack over a shoulder easily and broke camp.

After shoving the tarp into the backpack along with a used book of matches, a rather dull pocket knife, and other perphernalia, she stood again and surveyed the surroundings, reveling in the cool, fresh scent of the rain. A giant's footprint of a puddle caught her eye, and the were wandered over, curious to see how she had changed. The were peered into the still puddle intensely, shifting amid the crackles of her well-worn poncho and frowning. "That's not me," she demanded, turning her head to one side, then the other to peer at her face.

Reflected back at her was the image of a gaunt, tan young girl whose hair was a dull silver-grey almost to her rather pronounced cheekbones. Her eyes were even a mix of emerald and yellow. She admired their effect for a moment, shifting her attention between the oddly mesmerizing eyes and the reflection of the clearing sky. The rain had been much chillier this time, the were noted, still contemplating the puddle, but it still wasn't too bad. The scene in the puddle seemed to shift until she was seeing double, until the Wolf stared calmly back, transposed on top of Anya's own reflection. Anya curled her lip. "What is it?"

The Wolf snickered. "You can't stay out here forever," she growled, her green-yellow eyes glinting eagerly, "You know that as well as I. Besides, that demon bound you into a pack with the other weres simply by his words. Do you seriously believe he will not come?"

Anya simply snarled in reply, standing up and kicking through the muddy puddle with a poorly bandaged foot. Listen, smell, something approaches, the Wolf warned, receding.

She sampled the air carefully and, indeed, found a scent that she had not noticed before. It was a living, sentient scent, perhaps only of larger game or, as the Wolf warned, some stranger drawing near. In either case, Anya drew back into the underbrush, watching carefully and waiting on baited breath.