Dragoncrest Cliffs and maybe in a year i will not feel like a bad queer

drageda had acquired a certain youngness to it that portia just didn't have anymore. she was not old, not by any means, but nowadays the pack was filled with yearlings and drama. secretly, portia drank up the gossip. whenever any of her children or anyone who came to her for medicinal needs stopped by, portia would always ask about things. the nosey scoundrel. but it was fun! and petty! and portia loved being both of those things.

the packs youth kept her youthful, despite her twisted ankle and the black patch on the bridge of her muzzle that was beginning to turn white... just along her nose... 

rarely did portia leave the borders. there was plenty to find within drageda. she had established a garden filled with all the herbs she could ever need. and when she didn't tend to her, her children and maybe even rose did so as well. dalia used to take the best care of it. but, alas, portia had to pick up the slack. she tried not to think about it. if she was sad, her family would be sad. and besides, she'd done the same thing to her own mother. leave the nest. it was fine, dalia would be fine, portia just had to hope that she'd raised her well enough to take care of herself.

but she was double-checking for herbs along the outskirts of the territory. it was growing colder, after all, and portia hoped to find some stragglers to take back to her cache. extra supplies never hurt anyone. 

instead, she found blixen, off on patrol as usual, and portia gave a friendly chuff. "hei," she greeted, dipping her head respectfully to the young commander, adjusting her posture accordingly, "how are you doing, hun?"