Avara

Relief from the boiling heat in the valley could be found at Orca Bay this time of year. Any right-minded inhabitant knew that. Sure, there was other areas, such at the glades or the basin, that were exempt from the sweltering heat, but only a fool would wander onto claimed territory. Everything in the valley seemed to be owned by someone or another, causing it tough to travel about. Avara had grown slightly aggravated by this, but she remained neutral. Avoiding scuffles with packs was becoming her forte. Being lonely was a new occupation for Avara, and, secretly, she enjoyed it.

The daughter of Windsong and Aurinka walked across the soft, white sands. Her paws slid into the weak footing, until she came to where the waves lapped. This sand was more compact, if barely. The water tugged at her large paws, the cream-colored wolf gazing out into the endless Ferral Sea. This was ecstasy. This feeling alone.

Avara had willingly left everything behind. Her grown pups, thrown to the four winds. Her family, all torn apart by a war that was now growing dormant, even though nothing was resolved. Avara had even lost the names of her parents, afraid that relations could eventually kill her. Now, she was just Avara. Just a wanderer. Just a wolf.