Morgan is seated near the front of the gathering of wolves; knees drawn up; arms resting on top of them. There's a smear of dirt on one elbow; her fiery hair woven back from her face tonight in some sort of intricate braid that swoops back the hair on either side of her temple. It's appealing; old-worldly. Gives Firebrand the touch of her ancestors; the proud blood of which thrums in her veins. The strength of which is evident there in her clear eyes; striking blue; they follow Avery when she speaks.
She shivers and shifts, just a little, at the snapping of the bone.
Frowns down with concentration at the ground amidst the talk of packs and lone wolves and challenges; tips her chin up; seeks out the Fostern's eyes and meets them for a second when she offers brunch. The corners of the Ahroun's lips curl back. It's the tiniest of gestures, really, but it speaks for much with the teenager. Speaks of her interest; the capturing of it; the mention of a totem of war.
She shivers and shifts, just a little, at the snapping of the bone.
Frowns down with concentration at the ground amidst the talk of packs and lone wolves and challenges; tips her chin up; seeks out the Fostern's eyes and meets them for a second when she offers brunch. The corners of the Ahroun's lips curl back. It's the tiniest of gestures, really, but it speaks for much with the teenager. Speaks of her interest; the capturing of it; the mention of a totem of war.