Blackbeak Bluff more things are wrought by prayer

It was spring. The air was ripe with it already - perhaps the spring came early to the mainland? Pendragon wondered how his home fared; perhaps his sister and the other druids were preparing for their rituals? Would they be planting seeds for their circles now, or singing praises to the trees? His heart yearned for home the more he thought about it — but the man's thoughts were pulled away from the Vale and brought back to the cliffside when a spritely voice drew his attention away.

When Pendragon turned to regard the silvered girl, he smiled, and prepared to answer — but there was a second wolf that came seemingly from nowhere, dark of pelt and somewhat friendly. His smile broadend a bit, but he chose not to interject yet.

The pair seemed to be unaffiliated with one another, but friendly at the same time. Were these more rogues like himself? He thought to taste the wind, or inspect the two women himself — but that would've been too bold, too rude. So he waited, patient (if a bit sullen) until one of them addressed him.