Wild Berry Meadow she the full moon, he the werewolf

hydra's reply is swift and wintersbane offers her his rapt attention as she speaks. she has done nothing to dissuade the respect that she earned from him so long ago. screech. that is a name he recognizes, and wishes instantly that he didn't. not for the pale, scarred male's sake — no for the sake of the divine priestess that seeks to protect him.

the winds of war within himself begin to blow, in eerie synchronization with the soft, frigid breeze that ruffles through the longer tendrils of his mane.

i remember galaxy. he assures hydra quietly, though he'd only met vela's littermate once before her death. for now, he avoids the topic of screech for as long as he can. and because he can't lie, because it was useless to anyway wintersbane squares his shoulders, draws in a deep breath and lets it out in a battleweary sigh. i recognize the name screech, though it is not the name he goes by. fire had told him some of this information. the more he learns about screech-mou — coupled as it is with what he has already done — the less wintersbane is inclined to trust him.

he lost his memory. as far as wintersbane knows this is still true. can barely speak. the tundrian does not excuse mou-screech-titmouse and he does not speak of what he thusly knows to be true because he seeks to protect him. were it up to wintersbane he'd have been gone already. but ...it is not up to him and the tundrian is left to do as his leaders command of him. i do not like what i have learned of him. wintersbane tells hydra honestly and adds, resigned. it is not my place to decide. so long as relmyna seeks to protect screech-mou then wintersbane will do as she bids.

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