Cricket Creek Bog Now I'm a ghost, I call your name, you look right through me

At the woman's question there was a gentle sway of Hemlock's tail, the notion of passing any knowledge on to someone else made her pleased. That much of herself she'd never hide, nor did she think she could. "They are borage, they can help new mothers. I figure it is coming into spring - there is bound to be a pack near here that might welcome new life this season." She offered, as if it was the most natural thing that she might offer to a pack so she had a safe Haven. 

They were forging what would be her home, and she was only wondering about the pack scent she'd  stumbled upon. "Is this your pack here?" She asked curiously, head tilting a bit in a gentle notion.