If am lost, I am lost on purpose.
She may have landed in Taiga, and even decided to take up residence there for now, but Alaska does not fully subscribe to the idea of having a home. There is too much to see, too much to experience, for her to fully buy into the idea of tying herself in one area. Perhaps in time she would find some shred of deep loyalty to a land, but for now, she finds that she belongs to the wild, to Beqanna, to the horizon.
So it does not take her long to begin to wander outside of the boundaries.
She is coming up on her first year and has begun to fill out. Her legs have lengthened, but her entire body still screams of youthfulness. Her mane had already begun to lie flat, but naturally, it was still short and thin—something she found rather boring. Alaska rather enjoys exercising her own gifts in small, even vain ways, and she grows out her mane and tail to fall luxuriously over her shoulder. The crimson of them stands out starkly against the white of her coat and the gold of her markings, and she finds it rather pretty.
And for all of her adventurous spirit and bold manners, she does love pretty things.
So she doesn’t change much else today as makes her way to the river. Outside of her improved hair, the only change is the wings that she chooses to sprout—the feathers of them as red as her mane and tail, save for the gold trimming that sparkles in the sun. They fluff by her side and fold over her back but she doesn’t use them just yet. Instead, she continues to walk, watching the river as it pounds and roars and feeling that her heart follows the same pattern—just hoping for a chance to find an outlet like the ocean.
