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

She has no more words for the heda, and there is nothing that Thuringwethil says in return; she seems to accept things as they are. Radova wishes to leave, as she has no further business here. Her hunger grows - a hunger for a proper meal instead of a bite of her enemies - and she suspects little hospitality from this woman. There is no trust between them. A kinship, perhaps, in a vague sense; something extended through a shared experience, a similar upbringing. They are of the same people even if those clans are separated by great hostility. Radova shifts, beginning her departure, but then stops. Her body rests in snow for a moment of lingering thought. 

"Goodbye, Thuringwethil kom Seageda," she does not know if she calls her by this old name for any reason - but it flows from her, a jab at what once was - and Radova begins to march through the snow once more. She makes a mental note to explore the riverside more thoroughly later, perhaps even venture close to this Drageda upon the mountain; but without anything to stop her, the winter wolf is keen on leaving.