Qeya River they fight like soldiers, they die like children

Thuringwethil’s time at the river had lessened with the pack trying to form to the north of them and spending some time to the west. When she approaches it, whatever scent markers she had left behind had washed away and faded and a small part of her wants to leave it alone. No one had dared cross it that she is aware of, having patrols on this side of the dragon doubled, and so she withholds herself from laying any scent down. They know the rules now, so she hopes, and for the moment she decides to travel down the pain a little ways.

The dark leader lowers her head as she comes to a stop, lapping up several waves of water. It’s cold against her throat, refreshing, but her eyes travel the length of the river for anything out of the ordinary before she moves again. Lifting her head, she laps at her muzzle to clear what mess she made and begins her trek downward, finding the spots along the way where the river narrows enough to cross. There, she marks her warning, and eventually begins her return along the bank of the river.