Blackfeather Woods The demons of our past lives

likewise, the pale stare of the prodigal brother moved relmyna to thoughts of her daycub, but moreover, it was his familiarity that evoked the memory of who he was. damien. the delta did not recall having ever met him, and yet the breadth of cold muscle before her was not a stranger. cicero's brother — why had he come back? letting her hackles fall, the scarred woman gave a slow nod to damien. she knew not every detail, but relmyna was indeed aware of who he was.
and she knew the father of her children was dead, a shade in the underworld; she had scented his blood after the war and followed it over the borders, understanding cicero's trail would lead to ruin. but that did not mean the toxicologist was forever departed from blackfeather — he lived on.
sensing the presence of her daughter, rather than small, soft footfalls, the delta kept her eyes trained upon damien but gave a low chuff of summons for @Astara. unsurprised to know the undaunted little thing had followed her, relmyna turned her gaze away only to follow the shy approach of her daughter, the way astara pressed her suddenly shy self against her mother's flank. 
then now the gentle curiosity of the patchwork wolfess shone through her eyes; she let her gaze rest on damien again, knowing that in the lines of astara's small form, her colouration, the fresh glint of melonii indigo — that he would see blood bound him to blackfeather.