Gyrfalcon's Keep So let the river run.

With the recent heavy snowfall, Durnehviir had opted to stay close to home. Ravensblood's numbers had fallen by more than half to a mere trio and while she was eager to get out and recruiting once again, the fiery Frostfur was loathe to leave her beau's side. Fleetingly, she wondered if perhaps their woods were cursed: spiriting the wolves away without a trace, one by one. It was a foolish thought and she was prompt to dismiss it, certain that the departure of her former comrades had simply been poor luck. Wherever they wound up, she hoped they were happy.

Constantine was still very much an enigma to her, though she was significantly more confident in where their relationship was heading. She supposed he was much like her uncle Viinturuth with his quiet confidence and, despite his hulking frame, admirable gentleness. Durnehviir could love him, she knew. She'd known that since the beginning, and it both excited and terrified her.

Durnehviir took her leave that morning, crossing Ravensblood borders to make her way into the neighbouring keep to scout for loners. While she, Constantine and Samothes could hunt together, their territory was at risk; they could not defend it should a larger group attempt to claim it. They needed numbers to fill their ranks, and she was eager to fulfil the role of interviewer.