Stavanger Bay the fountainhead

Although her den was in the heart of the forest, Emaleth had begun to spend much of her time patrolling the border they shared with the wolves of the Depths. She would respect the alliance put into place by her sister, but she struggled to fully trust their neighbors. They were too close for comfort, too harsh— if Skellige's mind changed, and Blackrock fell upon Donnelaith, the forest wolves would be easily taken. Like Deirdre, she was a pacifist— but Emaleth had more in common with Aria and Constantine than she knew. If it would not be an insult to her sister's command, the dark witch might have encouraged their followers to train amongst themselves; a fail safe. But she could not, and so did her best to make peace by pacing the border, ever vigilant, ever watching.

Tomorrow night was Samhain, and Emaleth would lead the ritual to honor the ancestors of the forest wolves. She was awake, now, her nerves alight— and so she worked to dissipate her anxiety by walking the length of The Sentinels' vanguard of trees. It was there, in the failing light, that she watched a figure make its way to the shore. She did not know what compelled her to leave the safety of the forest, but she did, leaving a long trail of paw prints in the sand behind her. When she felt she could go no further without inciting an attack for trespassing, she paused and hailed the other with a gentle whuff, her posture one of neutrality— she came in peace.