Here's a fact about Morgan Roche not many are privileged enough to know.
She can sing. Had been a member of choirs in Portland, before her parents passed away. Before she became less a girl and far more a monster with that flaming red hair of hers. Avery (or Avery's staff) may be the first to hear it - a lilting melody drifting through rooms while the Ahroun is present; old songs and new - some in English, some ... not. But pretty. Poetic and - surprisingly gentle, for all that the young woman felt like a blaze of fury.
A lick of white hot fire.
--
Rafael has a bag when he collects his packmate and Morgan has -- Morgan. Well, not quite. There's a duffel bag she throws into the back with the Silver Fang's messenger bag; her own a tatty forest green that's seen enough action to bear scars and stains. The Fianna smells like the great outdoors and Avery's shampoo.
Her clothing also seems cleaner than it has - well, - ever.
Know what the challenge is?
There's a frown. The younger Ahroun shakes her head aggressively in the negative. Seems, perhaps, torn between her excitement to be moving and the idea of the trip itself. "Las' time I was there for a challenge it did nae end so well. But - " A little shrug, a self deprecating grin. "Fianna do things differently."
Whatever that meant.
--
They tumble out on the other side, this trio of Merlin. Avery, resplendent and glowing. Rafael, looking a little moonstone-sick and Morgan red-cheeked and spiritually wind-tossed. She's already staring around and biting at the inside of her cheek, this red wolf who smells like Celtic warriors long buried and gone.
"S'like drinkin' Tommy's moonshine back home." She says, as Rafael grips her shoulder. She sounds a little sympathetic. "Maybe you should put your head between your legs."
She can sing. Had been a member of choirs in Portland, before her parents passed away. Before she became less a girl and far more a monster with that flaming red hair of hers. Avery (or Avery's staff) may be the first to hear it - a lilting melody drifting through rooms while the Ahroun is present; old songs and new - some in English, some ... not. But pretty. Poetic and - surprisingly gentle, for all that the young woman felt like a blaze of fury.
A lick of white hot fire.
--
Rafael has a bag when he collects his packmate and Morgan has -- Morgan. Well, not quite. There's a duffel bag she throws into the back with the Silver Fang's messenger bag; her own a tatty forest green that's seen enough action to bear scars and stains. The Fianna smells like the great outdoors and Avery's shampoo.
Her clothing also seems cleaner than it has - well, - ever.
Know what the challenge is?
There's a frown. The younger Ahroun shakes her head aggressively in the negative. Seems, perhaps, torn between her excitement to be moving and the idea of the trip itself. "Las' time I was there for a challenge it did nae end so well. But - " A little shrug, a self deprecating grin. "Fianna do things differently."
Whatever that meant.
--
They tumble out on the other side, this trio of Merlin. Avery, resplendent and glowing. Rafael, looking a little moonstone-sick and Morgan red-cheeked and spiritually wind-tossed. She's already staring around and biting at the inside of her cheek, this red wolf who smells like Celtic warriors long buried and gone.
"S'like drinkin' Tommy's moonshine back home." She says, as Rafael grips her shoulder. She sounds a little sympathetic. "Maybe you should put your head between your legs."