Emberwood i was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other

Thuringwethil commits the name to memory, and her association with the dark woman she met months ago. An interesting woman that had too much of an interest in her own home but the young leader had brushed it off and now, with Menta before her, she considers visiting the lands Asterr claims for herself. A thought for another time, pulled back to the conversation by the diluted sunbeam.

“That is good to hear,” she says with a soft hum. “Send her my regards when you see her again.”

She’s asked about her home, which isn’t terribly invasive, and so Thuringwethil has little qualms about sharing such information. There is plenty she’s willing to give away, to the right wolf, and her companion doesn’t give her any sour feelings—and it helps she’s shacked up with someone she knows—and so she nods her head once.

“Sleeping Dragon. We settled in the winter. I relocated from farther north on the sea but the mountain has suited us well,” she answers after a moment of consideration. She’d gotten used to most wolves in the Wilds not knowing her by name, or title, where her legacy had lived with Heda’s over generation and continued to prosper even if they weren’t in their homeland.