Once accepted into herd life, there are things one should become used to and aware of what tasks you should be doing. If you leave, maybe it's even best you find something useful to do, bring something back.
Glad to be free of the clutches of confinement, and thinking of the better of the herd(and how she had lacked in tasks since her return), found each step leading into the cool shade of trees and pull of undergrowth that littered the floor of the Threshold. Each arrival would be tired, weary, most likely untrusting of tthose that came with intentions of taking them home with them. Every one, in the end, became a mindless subject to the whole, but the idea had yet to pass through her thoughts when she left home.
Every one needed someone, and everyone had their part to play in it.
A faint voice graced ears, each mounted cup turning forward and ready to meet the arrival of a body that was unknown to her, someone desperate to find home or holding an attitude that would make even the most loving mothers frown. She's got a name to that attitude, and that name was the reason she'd been given bad looks in the past.
When she gets to them, a pinge hits her heart and her stomach follows with a knitting twist.Slow, each step barely pressing into the earth and leaving a mark, their opening becomes more filled when her presence is given out.
They pay her no mind, and she's glad they don't. Teachings that made her some comfortable with the faces she knew, ones that kept her calm and level head, flew out the window. No remake of her last time here make a reappearance; there are no living dead who are loved ones wandering between the gaps of the trees and cloaked in their shade.
Soft, sweet, but low toned, a note gathers in her throat and rises out like she's swallowed an oyster that can't stay in her stomach. Not that horses ate oysters.
Her note is enough to turn heads her way, to have them pay glances to her and see a girl becoming woman who is paying debts to puberty. Her legs are long, her rib cage narrow and Birdsong fat gone to show faint ribs. The Dragon's Throat has more than enough food to keep inhabitants plump, her weight is low as she's lost sleep to her tangled mind. There isn't much interest to food to go with.
Sikeax, of the Dragon's Throat. How are you?"
The final three words are simple, intended for all that stand with her, including the large male laid beneath a tree. He seems casual to those coming for him with greed on their minds
She must be like them, greedy because their homes want more to populate their walls so that their numbers rise, and along with it, their strength, power, and influence.

ooc: Please tag me if you can! It'll be easier and faster for me to reply.

If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?