Qeya River "if only, if only," the woodpecker sighs

Before she gets too far, a still figure in the distance catches her attention. A mix of scent wafting in her direction as well as the silhouette in her peripheral vision, and at first she doesn't show her notice. Several yards she walks, but this time with no particular goal in mind. It's familiar enough to keep her rooted to the lake for a little while longer, if not to show the foolish wolf a direct way back home. Eventually the distance between them decreases and she slowly turns her gaze to look at him without any hint of surprise.

Thuringwethil slows to a stop several yards away and lingers, watching him for a moment. He'd been an odd wolf back in the maplewood but she realizes his name slips from her mind, if she'd even been told in the first place. Eventually, she diverts her aimless walk to get to him and her posture is no less important than if she were at her own borders. No matter where Heda stands, she is still Heda, and that would not change until the last breath escapes her body.

His scent this time caught her interest and she's vaguely reminded of the dark wolves trying to settle. Had she noted that last time? Slate eyes narrow and she reduces the space between them so she's at least able to speak, but enough distance that his lack of importance to her is obvious.