Blackfoot Forest when night fell she placed hand upon breast; prayed for weeping days of rain

Now that he is living with a band of wolves, rather than on his own time and rules, Phocion sleeps less, rousing himself unwillingly to face the day. He knows that the norm is to be active when the sun is high, so, though he doesn't like it one bit, he's up and at 'em today, wandering just outside the Valley's borders to a forest nestled in the mountains to the south.

The woods, at least, provide shade from Ileana's glare, and he meanders happily through them, pelt a shock of white against the dark green. The yips of foxes rang out somewhere close, but it was otherwise quiet, most songbirds having flown away for winter.

Movement ahead catches his eye, and Phocion pursues it, coming across a tall, slim woman, engaged in. . .well, something. He didn't quite know what. But her bright gaze was questing, and he stepped forward, encouraged to help her find what she sought.

"Good day," he greeted politely. She smelled of the valley, though he had never seen her before.