Qeya River Those who are about to die will say anything.

The other wolf straightens up once she crosses the river and Thuringwethil scrutinizes the way she moves. She can see the faint line of pink across the right side of her face against the light fur and snowy backdrop. A shift in fur pattern, or a scar, but she hesitates conclusion. When the wind shifts the wolf’s scent, it doesn’t mingle with those of others but weeks alone could erase any sign roots left dangling from their legs. Heda moves, easy steps through the snow to close the distance between the other she wolf and herself.