Qeya River let the mob come, pitchforked and petrified

Even as she tries to relax and soothe the heat that soaked into her dark fur, letting her guard down in a neutral territory is the last thing she’d do. With tensions across the way in Larksong and their mishap some time ago, Thuringwethil isn’t going to allow herself to be ambushed or cornered by a Grotto wolf. So when a figure approaches the watering hole’s bank, she turns to watch without leaving her spot in the lake until she’s ultimately noticed and the other takes it upon themselves to circle their way toward her.

Thuringwethil moves back to the muddy bank, shaking out her fur, and watching as the other trots in her direction. As she gets closer, she knows she doesn’t recognize the wolf, and her scent is just as empty. No pack she can recollect comes to mind and in fact the scent seems singular, leaving her to wonder if she belongs to another at all. The dark leader nods her head in acknowledgment once they are only a short distance away, enough to read one another’s features and determine any hostility. So far, Thuringwethil isn’t able to find anything to be a threat so she adjusts into her normal, dominant posture and squares her head above her shoulders upon her approach.