Blackfeather Woods come home late

hoping to put this towards a mercenary trade

Despite the new title she wore, she did not feel very different — save for the heavy feeling of doubt in her chest that settled in when she thought too long. Her presence on the borders had always been typical, she found comfort on them, and so it should have been no surprise she still lingered there prominently. Although one would figure that perhaps it was expected even more now.

As the sun began to settle and the forest seemed to darken into inky blotches of shadows, she slowly worked her way around the border. Faded scent markers were worked over with new markers to reinforce the borders that guarded Blackfeather and its residents.

The Morta was keen to repeat this ritual all night.

Her children's sickness had had her scents on the borderline fade, as she tended them carefully until their illness broke. She did not fear for them now; her daughters were strong, she knew, and sickness had no claim on their lives. Her wanderings were slow, methodic, and when she became aware of the prescence somewhere behind her, she stilled entirely and waited. When the shadow drew close, of the Woods and yet foreign, she offered a chuff into the stillness.

She had not meant to encroach on the stranger (oh, how awful to think of a Blackfeather as a stranger) and quickly she fell upon a way to rectify her arrival. Come? Her word was a soft invitation that had barely slipped past her lips. By sight and scent alone she could tell this was one of the Woods' mothers. Jakoul had never been with children but she had, of course, been a child once. Kept in a tight den full of too much energy. Did mothers feel the same way as their children?

at the woman's soft question Cassiopeia only nodded, motioning along the border and inviting the woman to walk with her. she was curious, but that did not mean that she ought to stop her task entirely. "who are you?" she asked, knowing well that the unfamiliarity likely went both ways but preferring to know more of strangers than they knew of her. at least, of course, until they were no longer strangers. 

the atramentous woman pushed past a particularly thick conifer, swiveling slightly as to scrape her back against the rough bark, simultaneously scraping a forepaw against a prowling root. all the while her attention remained fixed on the other woman, though her path meandered towards another possible marker.

The question was to be expected she supposed, it was the right thing to ask one when you did not know them. Narrow skull turned to steal a look at the mother near her side. Jakoul. Morta. Both a name and title was given. It was a change from her usual introductions, fretful and secretive. She was confident these days within the confines of Blackfeather.

You? The small question fell from her lips as she paused to mark a patch of land. The Morta would not leave all of the work to her companion.