Otter Creek All my flowers grew back as thorns.

Wraen had left Sunspire at dawn, spent some time in the plains, catching mice and after an hour long nap in the safety of reeds at the Greatwater lake, she went down South. There had been several tracks of deer and, though not the most fresh, she decided to investigate. 

Her path led along the Otter creek, while it snaked near Blackfeather woods, Wraen occasionally stopped to sniff the air and casted wary side glances. Just in case any of the forest's ominous inhabitants showed up. Unknowingly she had met at least two members from this group and yet the prejudice was still strong against them.

Her step and posture grew more relaxed, when she was past the supposed danger zone and entered grounds, which at first glance seemed familiar to her. Some time in winter, she had come this far and hunted otters with a wolf, whose name she had either never found out or conveniently forgotten. Yet the surroundings looked different from what they had been, therefore she ventured further and further. 

Her mind drifted for a while and she stopped by the stream to have a drink, only to notice later that there was another face in the vicinity. A cream colored wolf, who seemed to be lost in thought as well. Wraen stopped, looked up and watched the other carefully.