Blackfeather Woods unintended worship

Shivali struggles to gauge how old the woman is, to see if she’s a young mother—her scars and wear are misleading—but she smiles when she nods. Maybe puppies will help liven the place up. After the war, and hard hit, it’s hard to stay positive. When she oft feels loneliness and isolation from the few wolves left, she contemplates leaving, but perhaps there is still some good left.
 
The question is turned to her and Shivali sharply looks over, licking her lips. “No,” she says, matter-of-fact. “No children.”  There is no sorrow in her tone. Children have not been deemed for her yet but it does not faze her one way or the other, though a slow breath releases, glancing back toward the glen and moves to one side. “It is safe,” she adds, looking over her shoulder.

The woman lingers a little longer, occasionally offering a word or two, but otherwise feeling uncomfortable. This space is not meant for her, nor does she expect it to ever be, and when she's able she gives the woman her goodbye and swiftly departs.