Qeya River all swallowed in their coats

He made his way home from the trip to the coast, and the girl he met along the way had followed him in silence.

A part of him found her intimidating, but charming all the same. She was petite and demure, pretty. She made something spark up within him that he did not yet understand.

Reaching the borders he pauses, clicking his tongue. It may be wise to announce the presence of a guest; she does not seem to be interested in leaving yet, though she will not explicitly state it. Then again, she does not seem to speak.

Looking back to the smaller figure with her clouded eyes, he lifts his chin to release a howl.

Following after the boy she had held a careful smile the whole way back to his home. A picturesque figure, sweet an unassuming, and yet plotting the whole way.

She does not know the nature of the pack he calls home, nor does it matter. The Listener is only here as a vessel of her god, the saint who will show this self-proclaimed holy man the consequences of lying to a wolf of the Blackwater line. She wonders how far behind Nayavanti may be.

He releases a howl as they reach a border, alerting the wolves within of his return and her presence. She is curious to see what will come from this; his lie has not gone so far that these wolves hold the respect to allow him to bring a stranger in without permission. Maybe there is hope.

Quietly she allows herself a short-lived laugh, as though an old joke had popped back into her mind.