Shadowwyn Moor that blackness called night

Works for me!

She finished her spiel on healing and looked to him. She'd rattled off quite a bit of information and could only hope he would retain it. So many wolves found the art of healing to be appealing. So many didn't have the patience or talent to realize there was more to mending wolves than slapping a leaf on a flesh wound. Her occupation was certainly not for amateurs, but rather for those with drive and passion.

"Mm," she murmured. Of course he'd learned a lot. She was a fount of information and knowledge first taught by experts and further expanded by personal studies over the years of her existence. Why, a few quick words and she hadn't touched the tip of the iceberg with her wealth of information.

Nevertheless, it seemed he had to depart. She shrugged, unbothered. Other wolves had places to be and she had a mental inventory to stock. "Citali," she offered in return as he'd given his name. Glancing to him, her gaze lingered. Hadn't he said he had some other place to be?