Gyrfalcon's Keep Would you just come home

Not very useful to the pack. There was a concept that Wylla couldn't properly comprehend. Her own chosen profession—survival, as it were, by means of reliably obtaining food for herself—had many uses for a pack, but she didn't believe that that was the only thing that gave merit to her skills. "Who cares what your pack thinks?" she asked with a quick shrug. "If you like doing it, that's all that matters. You're not some pack's slave to do only what they want."

Oh Wylla, you poor fool, you have no idea how the world works.

"A long, long time," she said noncommittally, if only because she'd never cared to count the months that had passed since she got lost. It was probably at least a year now, but she didn't really know for sure. All she knew was that it was too long, and her life was only hers for as long as her little frayed lifeline held her. She lived paycheck to paycheck, as it were, and each month lost a little more than the last. It had been a long time, and she doubted she would survive alone long enough to double it.