Emberwood We can live in a world that we design.

Durnehviir swung around to face the mottled yearling again, her feathered tail lashing the air behind her in irritation as the offender continued to snipe back. Her points were all valid - they had neglected their Northern outskirts, or at least Durnehviir herself had - and left themselves vulnerable, but somehow she doubted that no matter how fresh those markers were, this loud-mouthed wolfess would've crossed them anyway. It was only a matter of time, she'd confided in Constantine before they brought the pack together - a solid defence to support her decision for relocation sooner rather than later.

"I heard you wailing," she said in response to Wylla's question, "and saw that you were alone. I stopped to check if I could help." Because I'm not an asshole, like you. She frowned deeply. "I'm starting to regret that decision, since you don't even have a shred of remorse for trying to take advantage of us. But that's okay as long as you got what you wanted though, right?"

A single ginger ear pricked high atop her crown in a moment of surprise at being dubbed a "huge dick". Her temper threatened to flare and her lobes slicked back again, hackles bristling. She stared at the argumentative loner and seethe quietly, expecting a sneer right back at her. But what Durnehviir saw was the face of a young outcast, spurned and hurt, with a lot of growing up to do. Unexpectedly, she found herself feeling some pity for Wylla, and recalled the promise to herself that she would not look back on the misfortune that Ravensblood had once brought her. She slackened somewhat, though maintained her distance, and continued to eye the coastal stranger with a level of suspicion. "So," she started coolly, "What do you want?