The trip back seems to take longer than the way there but she finds more on her mind than before. She’d gone to the peak to clear her mind and make way for the upcoming war but she’d been thrown a curveball she hadn’t expected to ever see again. As much as she wants to question the past year, something keeps her from doing it. Part of her doesn’t want to know. Nothing urges her to find out. The commanders have gone quiet and by the time she reaches the fringes of Drageda, the morning sun brightening to the sky, and she glances back to see
@Hvitserk in tow.
“You have no real place here yet,” she says, remaining in their native tongue before turning away and continuing on.
“The edge of this forest borders our claim and it is where you will remain. There is another here, too. Arrille. Prove to me you deserve a second chance and you will be given your spot.”
And lord help him should
@Eske decide to seek him out.
Cameo. Feel free to skip.
The bird winged just above the pair, making no effort to hide itself. Wolves rarely took interest in birds, just as birds rarely took interest in wolves - but if they did, what could they do? The bird was in the sky, and the wolves were on the ground. Even when it slept, it was safe and protected.
The bird looked in with open curiosity, landing on a nearby branch and hopping closer as the commander spoke. It had not yet learned the dialect used by this pack, but the situation was clear enough to the bird's learned eyes. The young male was a joiner - one that
Heda had known before. One that was not yet fully trusted or forgiven.
But the bird was not interested in the male. Its black eyes burned into the back of
Heda's skull, watching.
I should mention all italics are her native tongue.
She notes the movement in the corner of her eye as the bird flies through her vision and settles somewhere out of sight. There is a familiarity to it she can’t necessarily pinpoint, knowing she hasn’t seen a bird anymore than normal. Thuringwethil brushes the though off a she returns her attention back to Hvitserk as he offers something pitiful in return. He speaks of his promises, instead of shows her, and she decides she’s as far enough into the territory than she wants him to go.
“In a few days, some of us are leaving for Redhawk Caldera, and we are going to war with another pack east of them,” she tells him. Nova Peak gave her no answers but perhaps another warrior.
“Rest the next few days. You’re coming with us.”
She finds it easy to talk to Hvitserk, now that she is going. She hasn’t been one for words most of her life but she finds it difficult in her position not to have to talk all the time. And being a mother, too? Especially on her own? Eesh. In return, and she suspects it is going to be shortlived—something she doesn’t mind—Hvitserk has spoken more in the last twelve hours than he likely has at all and that’s including the entirely silent way back.
“A wolf from Blackfeather Wolves kidnapped Wildfire, among other things to other wolves in the wilds,” she says, this time her voice strains a little. Hopefully, she doesn’t have to elaborate anymore and that trauma her mate has gone through and be gathered enough. She does not like talking about it, especially with wolves that are not part of Drageda, but Hvitserk is still like family in some weird way she’s supposed to have forgotten. She’ll get a mixed bag of reactions from the rest of Drageda by letting him return but he’ll prove it once more. “She is recovering in Redhawk Caldera with her birth family.” She doesn’t like it but she’d made the mistake leaving her in the first place that she’s inevitably prolonged her return.
It is not the first time she has seen that look and likely won’t be the last for sometime. It’s a big part of the reason she doesn’t go into too much detail. Those in Drageda know already but Hvitserk has history with them, more than the others, and perhaps the look comes from actual concern over a former pack mate. Wildfire had been significant in their life when they were young, she’s just as significant now even with her absence in Drageda.
”Sha,” she says, one ear twitching for the sound of the bird nearby but it has gone silent and she wonders if it disappeared all together. ”Ai raun gon Eske. Em nou appa.” Thuringwethil then lifts one brow, curious to see if he has anything else to ask.