A young teenager walked through the deep forest. She wore a tattered black sweater,a faded skirt, and a pair of flip-flops worn from years of use. A wide brimmed felt hat covered her small face and shoulder length hair cut perfectly straight. Her general immpression was that of a young girl of 15, but her rich brown eyes showed age, mystery, and wisdom. Huron, as she preferred to be called, was nearing the border of the Braveheart pack. She had found the border only yesterday, and had returned today to see if anyone was there.
In truth, Huron needed to join a pack as soon as possible. Right now, her entire savings was a grand total of three cents, and if she were to hunt as a wolf, it would be much safer to join them instead of tresspassing.
While waiting, a long sigh escaped the girl's full lips. Ever since she had been made a werewolf, Huron's life had been overshadowed with poverty. Finding a job was difficult enough, keeping it seemed impossible, what with her strangeness. Although her other self did not cause too much trouble. Neither was the type to get overly excited or ambitious, thus adding to her eccentricity even in the nightly world.
Leaning her head against an acient oak, Huron closed her eyes. Somebody find me...
In truth, Huron needed to join a pack as soon as possible. Right now, her entire savings was a grand total of three cents, and if she were to hunt as a wolf, it would be much safer to join them instead of tresspassing.
While waiting, a long sigh escaped the girl's full lips. Ever since she had been made a werewolf, Huron's life had been overshadowed with poverty. Finding a job was difficult enough, keeping it seemed impossible, what with her strangeness. Although her other self did not cause too much trouble. Neither was the type to get overly excited or ambitious, thus adding to her eccentricity even in the nightly world.
Leaning her head against an acient oak, Huron closed her eyes. Somebody find me...