Dragoncrest Cliffs Dark Flake

Although Emaleth certainly didn't like that the woman was crossing the borders they were attempting to establish, she was willing to grant her the patience that Wildfire had given her— but this patience didn't extend to the predatory male, who's speech was both crude and rude. If it hadn't been for the others of Drageda that had come to join her, the yearling would not have been so brave. Except for the commander, the rest were unfamiliar except that they smelled like they should have. Her posture remaining tall, the dark she-wolf loosed a warning growl, and took a careful step toward the female that had apologized.

Emaleth inhaled slowly, capturing a more concentrated scent-- for the pair smelled familiar to the youth, but she was having trouble placing it. They smelled of the sea and faintly of sequoias, and the heady scent of a male she had met only briefly. There were only two packs along the coast to the south that Emaleth was aware of, and none in the hundreds of miles between them and these cliffs. She glanced at the commander, willing her to understand a silent message-- I know of these wolves,-- so that when she spoke again, it would not be punished later.

"You are long from your home," she commented, not being able to measure the distance in miles, but knowing the trek from Donnelaith to these cliffs would take five days for even the fastest of wolves pushing themselves to the limits of their body. "How fare the Depths?" she queried, knowing she could be wrong but risking it anyway. Without giving them the space to answer, she continued, "Could you bring my sister, Deirdre of Donnelaith, a message when you return? Tell her that I am safe." This was asked with a bit of anxiety, for the guilt that lay there. Would her sister even want to know, even care?