Golden Glade die with memories, not dreams

   Embry softened, sea-green orbs somewhat blunted. This wolf clearly did not wish to address him quite yet, despite his attempts. He knew her erstwhile motive - the establishment of hierarchy and ranking that detested default advocacy - but it did not palliate the ebbing tide of frustration gnawing at his stomach. When she spoke, he nodded, receptive of the name.

     It was interesting enough; he had never heard a title more foreign than his own and it endeavored to enthrall his already limited range of focus. Jhala. He would remember it. But when she spoke again, his ears seemed to arch higher upon his squared skull. He let his gaze wander, albeit hesitantly, from the Alpha. They rested earnestly upon Feyre. How did she know him?