Lost Creek Hollow it was not meant that we should voyage far.

Finally, the shewolf was in her sight, and at once, Sif found herself swept away in her jagged beauty. A shiver of pleasure beat an axious pace with her tail, and her steps fluttered half-forward, half-back as she tried to decide what ought to be done. The other girl repeated her greeting; an invitation? She shrugged off her indecision like a heavy cloak and pressed forward, ears cupped toward the strange, mist-and-rain cloud girl.

"Im Sif," she offered, stopping again a few yards away, ears swivelling back now in automatic submission. Her next words were not yet loaded. She paused, mouth open as she thought, and finally added a simple, "Naame?" another hopeful wag of her tail punctuating the word.

It was not that she'd never seen pretty shewolves before; Sif had seen plenty. But in the past, another wolf - any wolf - was more likely to be an enemy than someone to talk to. She had been not well liked in her natal pack, and a meal once she was on her own. And Fen's gentle care had revived her, nutured her, but had done so at the cost of exposure to others.

Wardruna had changed this. Now, when she looked at another woman, she saw a possible friend. Companionship. Selskap.