Northstar Vale In the end you pretend 'cause it's so much easier

When Muirrin had first arrived in these lands, she had thought of claiming this Vale as her own rather than the mountain. It seemed to have everything a pack of wolves could want for; meadows, forests, streams. She knew that if she were to settle here, the pack she hoped to form would flourish and thrive. It is surrounded by walls on all sides, the woman eventually concluded, it is a honeypot; a trap. In the stories her grandfather told, Muirrin had learned of such things. Great wars waged, the strongest of armies destroyed and fallen beneath foe in choosing poor ground on which to make their stand.

Not that she was planning a war; but enemies, she knew, would one day come. Tuatha Dé would be prepared.

Still, the reason she had decided not to take the Vale was the very reason it would make excellent hunting grounds. With nowhere to run, the herds would run themselves into the tearing jaws of she and her wolves. Muirrin would know this place, as she knew her mountain. And so she navigated the idyllic valley, making notes and formulating plans. The time was growing ripe; it would soon be upon her.

As she followed a hidden path through a forest, a flash of white roused her from her thoughts. Golden eyes narrowed, she altered her course in the direction it had gone. Fey? She tasted the air. No, not fey—as ever, the slippery forms she saw in the park were always corporeal. Before long, the strange wolf was visible through the trees... a young male puppy. Muirrin first tensed, scanning the forest for signs of anyone other. After a few moments passed, and the child still remained alone, she approached.

Her voice gentle, her voice nonthreatening, she queried, "Are you alone?"