[The Royal Bastians of Arbonne | Info & Adoptables]

The flower petal delt divine against her nose. It was almost as if her black nose was ultra-feeling, and the petal itself was made of the finest crushed velvet. The smell was faint, but she was able to perceive it in its fullest splendor; the soft floral effects riding upon the more earthy scent of the tierra firma from which it sprouted. The color was something Imogen rarely saw these days, in Mythris -- it reminded her of the pink-satin sheets that lined the cushions of her bed-chamber, that caressed her skin as she slept for lengthy, lazy hours.

All her senses (even her memory) were so heightened, so whipped up by the gust of wind, that it felt as if she had sniffed those special powders that were so prominent at fêtes. Where once she had thought there was nothing for her ears to behold besides her own snuffling on the ground, La Contessa realized there was something else scrabbling about. She lifted her crown and gaze, her vision soft and taking in all around her, and that was when she saw him.

Bonjour, cher monsieur ("Good morning, dear Sir") she greeted with simple propriety, lapsing into her native tongue with the strange self of aloof-receptiveness that her mind was experiencing. She even proffered a small curtsy ~ which, in the transition from human to wolf, looked something like a dip of her head with a lift & curl of one foreleg ~ smiled at him, then looked back at the flower, suddenly curious about how a wind had been strong enough to bring a single flower petal in the depths of a cave. Were there others? and, once more, wouldn't the frigidity of winter blight out any pale, delicate blooms long before they had even a chance to evolve?

Once against, Imogen seemed lost in thought, thoroughly captivated with the simple wonder that had fallen across the bridge of her maw.

skill: [none]