The Sentinels a skeleton whisper

his patrols were not long, for each waking moment was given over to watching his daughters grow. yet the druid knew that he must keep safe their new land, for its crux and details were still unexplored, and snow fell plentifully. no storms had they yet weathered, but lasher was sure that they were coming, for the sea crashed and roiled in her anger not far off. the scent of salt was something to which he had grown accustomed; his nares and eyes no longer stung with the brine when he drew fragrances from the border.

eigma. he knew the scent of the she-wolf before he spotted her multi-hued pelt and bright eyes. donnelaith's ranks were full -- he could not give the wolfess succor now -- but he gave a short bark all the same, rangy stride lengthening to bring him to her side.