Stavanger Bay she brought the sugar and the mint

His eyes, bright and still, laid upon her for a seemingly endless moment. The once-familiar feeling of kinship rose up in her once again as she gazed back, unafraid to look into his stare; for there was no strife, here. No striving for dominance. In that moment, Doe felt the world shift and fall into place. Understanding hit her all at once, and for that moment, she knew who she was. What had happened to her. What she'd done. All that she'd lost. It was laid out before her like a winding path, and each mistake was a stone that led deeper into the valley where she'd been born.

And for the barest moment, it was beautiful. I'm Doe. I really am, and I know how I got here. I know how to get back! Riverbone - the real Riverbone - is still there, waiting for me. My brother, my mother, my family!

But it was only a moment. The path seemed to shift before her eyes, yet nothing truly changed - it was the same path, but she knew that it was not a journey to start, but one that she'd already finished. For when she looked over her shoulder, there was Szymon. There was Stavanger. There were waves still not played in, pups not yet born, and a story she burned to hear the end of.

A few rapid blinks brought her back to the beach, and the understanding slowly left her, until only a tendril of it was left - wispy and uncertain, but still a bright spot teasing at the back of her mind.

"I'll show you some of the fruit trees, and then we can meet back here and mix it all up," she explained, tail wagging with unexplainable happiness.

Well, perhaps not so unexplainable. For I have seen the future, she thought, and you and I are there.

Tail raised high like a flag in the air, Doe led the way to the farthest reaches of their territory, where a few fruit trees bore branches heavy with their burdens. As she had said, rotting fruit carpeted the ground closest to the trees, and littered the land at the border of Donnelaith. "Two or three mouthfuls each should do it," she chirped, picking up a limp, sticky plum. "Waiswa!" called the scrappy shewolf around the fruit, scooping up a few more before darting off.