Felltree Marsh the guardian lives in her leaves

Antumbra loves her children. There is no doubt there. Perhaps it is because she did not carry them herself, or her training as a child, but there is still some disconnect when it comes to them that she’s never properly been able to cross. It is the only thing that keeps her Heda in front of them when she needs to be but there is still room to shed the crown, for a while. She nods but does not add any comment.

Her eyes follow briefly toward the path the child had taken but she draws back sooner, listening as she describes their home and their purpose.

A sanctuary, she says. Her ears cup forward, curiosity mapped across stoic features.

“Drageda is on the coast, in the redwoods,” she explains, though perhaps she knows that already. Weirder things have happened, I guess. “You’ll have no trouble from us,” she adds. Wolves seeking peace likely won’t be an issue so she does not issue a warning, especially when there is much for her to learn. “I don’t think we’re too far from each other.”