Dragoncrest Cliffs So comes snow after fire.

Open to anyone.

Atsula had been dismissed, which left Seregryn on her own. She wasn't sure what to make of this new place just yet and was entirely too anxious about it. The girl wanted to carry herself like the fos goufa for she knew she was destined for that spot, yet at the same time she couldn't quite exalt herself to that position without knowing if there were others to contend with. So, she did the best she could to scout the territory out. To find the places where the wolves slept, to learn of them through the marks they left behind, and inevitably spent the majority of her first days simply investigating.

Today, as she rounded upon a lake that had become the center of her universe, Seregryn paused to dip her head and drink. Tasting the chilled water rolling down her throat was a great relief; seeing her reflection in the distorted pool, not so much. Her ears turned back upon her head and she looked away, turning her head, then shoulders, until she was off at a fresh trot around the lakeside. She couldn't let her guard down yet — not until she knew every scent upon these cliffs. Not until she knew, without a doubt, she was uncontested as Thuringwethil's fos goufa and eventual successor.