Silver Creek And moth-like stars were flickering out

For a time she sat alone, pelted by the odd drop that made it through her tree's thick canopy, but eventually she was found. The wolf that approached was not someone that Saena recognized, and that made her stomach do a queer flip-flop. Once, she ruled these woods. Once, no wolf but those she approved were welcome to walk among its roots and stones. None but those she vetted were permitted to fish from the magnificent creek for which they were named. And there were quite a few of them, then.

But Saena no longer ruled. Spring did. She could do nothing about that, wish it as she might, and she merely needed to accept the fact that wolves she had not chosen herself were making a home out of her home. Those she had chosen must have left, for their scents no longer permeated the woods. This particular wolf was an unfamiliar, heftier fellow with a pale coat dashed through with silver and gunmetal, especially in his saddle. She met his bright orange eyes evenly, but dropped them after a moment in recognition of her lower rank. She could only begin to re-establish her dominance when she regained the respect of the pack, and not before.

Her lips lifted into a disgruntled scowl when Heston shook himself off, but he apologized immediately. The Saena of old would have held it against him regardless. The Saena of now was a bit more forgiving, and inclined her head as if to shrug it off. "Pleasure," she said politely, then added, "my name is Saena." She smirked in agreement as he mentioned the rain, but made no comment on it for the moment.