Dragoncrest Cliffs sheidgeda

It was frustrating to return only to be treated exactly the same as before. Seregryn was no child. She had not been one for some time, by Trigeda standards at least, and certainly did not perceive herself as one. Yet she was being scolded by the heda in much the same manner as a parent might correct a child. Seregryn's tail lashed at her hocks but she was silent a moment, and then turned her gaze away from both wolves present — deferring to the more dominant woman with a slight bow of her head.

Sha. As the girl answers, she crawls towards Thuringwethil and with a reach of her snout, plants as series of swift licks to her  aunt's chin. Then she stands tall, shakes the situation off of her shoulders, and the plush layers of her coat dance briefly across her body. She doesn't look to Emaleth again. It doesn't matter. But she does feel the guard's eyes boring in to her flesh, and the hairs on her shoulders stand up like quills.

Chit gon maun? She asks of Thuringwethil, diverting the topic — and cutting the guard out of the equation completely. Seregryn knew of the move because of her investigations, and she knew that the Dragon had rumbled beneath her paws; yet still she was curious. What had made the heda move to the coast? Mo Seageda? A second chance, perhaps?