Bitterroot Valley mary, mary, quite contrary

She’d noticed the wandering scent of Freyja leading in a direction she didn’t particularly like. She’d been clear in her instructions with all the puppies, especially the day in the geyser field, and yet she’s left with trailing behind the girl to the borders without another to accompany. Her ears fall back against her head and she moves carefully down the slopes and through the trees until she finds even ground. And Freyja. And a wolf she doesn’t recognize. Dark eyes narrow from her distance and it is not long before she’s upon the both of them by the time the dark straggler speaks, Freyja obviously have given him information about her home.

Without giving the girl a chance to respond, she swiftly puts herself between the child and the unknown wolf with a growl brewing in her chest. Her fur bristles and head squares between her shoulders and, with a low voice, speaks only one word toward the man: “Go.”