The Sentinels Time to take a little from this world we're given

fear had receded from her at long last. the internal scar wednesday had dealt to her was thin indeed, and would only effect faces entirely new to her. having spoken with her father about all of the inhabitants of donnelaith, she felt safe in knowing those her father trusted by name. the cub had not seen the silver man since the day she had fled from him, though she thought of him from time to time.

the familiar scent of him wafted toward her in her small bed of lavender. her emerald eyes blinked slowly as she stirred, her mind shifting from rem to contemplation. she waited no more, however. something compelled her to rise and follow that scent, and so she did. it took her far longer than it would take a wolf who knew how to track, and she was not quiet in doing it, lacking the experience of a true hunter and playing no game at all that provoked silence. but deirdre was always careful to avoid stepping on branches, because she did not wish to cause the deadwood any pain. to deliberately step on one seemed an insult to donnelaith, though she loved the forest as she loved her family.

in time she heard the stream, and the scent of dante was at its strongest. she ducked beneath a low bough and moved to step into the open, and her lilting voice spoke before she could command herself not to: dante??