Deepwood Weald tell me, how does it feel?

Themis set her sights on her goal now. Slowly, she was making her border markings stable, pushing her scent into the bark of trees, of the dirt and grass and bush around the Weald.

Today, however, was not to mark. It was to walk, to see.

To catch interest, if she could find it.

She moved, in the open for once, despite how her skin crawled to do so.

the place of moonstones was sacred to moonglow.

kuktuux had come to gather some of them. she would take them back to her altars, the ones set in different places around the spine.

cerne's gentle warning rung upon her ears.

but she was not alone in this forest. moonwoman lifted her head, watchful. a wrap cut down from red-squirrel pelt was around her shoulders, stark against her pale fur.

There was someone here, a stark white beacon in the fog. Themis slowed her stride to a near crawl.

This one carried scents with her, unfamiliar, foreign. Steadily, the greyscale woman prowled that smallest bit closer.

Παύση! She didn’t even notice her language switch. She’d been making an effort to use her mother tongue more around her children.

Είσαι φίλος; Εχθρός?

the woman spoke in words kukutux did not understand.

she tensed. her ears came forward. the unknown language was not so unfamiliar. she recognized it being as the tongue of her husband

"είσαι κοντά." her voice was halting. her accent butchered the unfamiliar syllables. "ah. moonglow. that way. το χωριό μου."

Themis blinked.

Oh, uh. She swallowed.

Sorry, about that. I’m Themis, this is Oi Kryfoí. Way to go, you giant idiot. Who left you in charge of diplomacy.

she shook her head. "it is good to have friends. i have the name of kukutux."

she came closer but not so near.

"oi kryfoi. you are new to this wilderness," she observed, for she had not yet heard the name.