Dragoncrest Cliffs poorly preserved

The woman took her self-appointed task very seriously. Having nothing better to do, Ra marched endlessly through the woods that were now her home, nose working constantly to catalogue the many scents that made up Drageda. They were not as pleasing or familiar as the scents of her mountain, but there were still trees. There was still dust. Squirrels and rabbits still skittered across the ground. She would miss her people, but these were her people, also, and she would learn to call this her home.

Most importantly, she would start to call Heda her commander - not only in her head, but also in her heart. It was for this reason she'd come across the world; to reconcile herself, to exorcise the demons that had lived in her since the day her pack had been taken over, the day her childhood had ended. The day her mother had died.

The pain was only an echo, now. Ra couldn't even remember the feelings that had taken hold of her that day. She could not remember the hurt or the loneliness, or even the sorrow of knowing she would never see the woman again. But, sometimes, when she thought of Thuringwethil, she thought that she could.

Ra didn't know why these feelings were associated with the woman. Ra was loyal, and she loved her people, adopted and born, and she understood the reasoning behind the merging of their two packs. It had been logical, and her mother's death was not Thuringwhethil's fault. But, for some reason, her heart had assigned the blame, and when she thought of the dark woman, she could feel nothing but fear, and anger, and confusion. It helped to think of Heda as a wise, disembodied voice - but she was a big girl, now, and it did not sit right with her to serve a woman she could not trust.

So Ra would learn to trust her. She had to.

And Thuringwethil would learn to trust her. So Ra patrolled, and when she came across Heda's scent, she made sure to wag her tail, hoping that her body might fool her heart into happiness.