Deepwood Weald A bar song (tipsy).

Dutch was not far from their borders. Recent events had him mired in guilt and sadness, but there was still work to be done.

His territory did not connect with Moontide's, but it was difficult to tell, considering how often wolves traveled between the two. On this day, he was gathering white stones in a patchy deer pelt — which he almost set down before remembering it would be useless to call out to the woman.

Instead of popping out of the mist, he trotted ahead to get upwind of of her, so that his scent on the breeze might herald his arrival. His tail wheeled in welcome as he trotted forward, but he could not offer a smile until he'd set the rocks down between them.

- Did baby make it back safely? - he asked, stumbling a little as he forgot the sign for daughter.