Whitefish River find me in the moonlight

Moonstone thought for a moment about the mutual pain they seemed to have; although she wasn't losing her eyesight like Grayday was, she certainly knew a piece of the struggle. During the day, when the sun was at its height and the water was merciless in its reflections, Moonstone could hardly bear to open her eyes, let alone use them to see anything. The night was a time of prosperity for her, and she liked to use every bit of it she could. I know what that's like, she sighed, then left it at that.

I like that name. Grayday. It wasn't anything like she'd heard back at home — Opal, Tourmaline, Ruby — but it still reminded her of the simplicity she was able to find there. Do you live around here? The smell of a pack would have been well diluted by the running waters of the creek, so knowing was more or less left up to trust.