Pangur's leg was healing up well. Nearly finished, quick, thanks to the mending paws of Callyope. Looking up at the  Heimtré, she reached to the gods for guidance. She wished to stay. Her intuition had guided her here, and now it lingered in this place. 

it would mean that she would give up her travels, the joy of new places and peoples, there would be ears that did not hear her songs or her stories, places untouched by her influence. She wished to bring good to all places, and so it felt like a betrayal to stay in one place, and yet her heart told her to anyways. Was it selfish?

She could stay, it was no matter of permission. But... Pangur was used to the fringes. She did not know what it was to live among others, truly live with them, the thought always present and never acted on. Perhaps it was time for Pangur to have a home.

Wanderer no longer. Would her mother approve? Pangur reached to her now in the silence, a forepaw lifted to gently touch the carved rune fused to her fur, fresh sap to make sure it never fell, never wavered; luck and love tethered to her inextricapbly. 

She kept it close. It made up in tiny pieces, for how far away it's maker felt.