The Heartwood drifting somewhere between map and maelstrom

“Wintersbane,” Grezig repeated, a habit she’d formed long ago. It helped to cement wolves’ names in her head and also served as an immediate opportunity for correction if she got it wrong. “Are you alone?” she asked, wanting to get the feel for whether he could be a recruit or not. “The smoke masks any other scents on you, if there are any.” A pause. “Would hate to see a wolf packless in winter.” She felt cheap, laying it on so thickly, but the truth was that she needed more numbers. And how would anyone know that if she didn’t try to recruit them?