Barrow Fields i need not one thing more

the she-wolf studied the fair girl, the brightness of her coat, the rich cerise that dappled her shoulders and flank. "you have his eyes." she commented at length, draw to the deep murkwater of her irises; a dead give-away of her heritage. "otherwise, you look nothing like him."

she meant, of course, the brilliant russet of mona's pelage - a stark contrast from the deep shade of damp earth and dulled silver that interspersed lasher's hide. she thought of their first meeting on the shore, and the subsequent ones after --of how she had discovered one of his children far from donnelaith's keep, and had lead her back rather than keep her.

"he seemed a careful man. full of great trouble, but he loved his family. i do not know of his life in donnelaith -- only what he showed to me, on the shore." she was aware that she did not have much information to give - she could tell mona how he made her feel, but would that truly matter to the mayfair's daughter?