Blackfeather Woods and she came to Troy with a dowry; death

wintersbane stood before them, beneath relmyna's soft gaze and astara's more appraising look, and at the sound of his gruff baritone, the listener closed her eyes.
she had known this day would come; the wood was fading, and it was not a place for an aspiring and fierce creature such as he. such as her lover, the woman's mind whispered, but she would not think of that now, for fear her spirit would cling to him, and boil with resentment at the departure of yet another she had come to love.
she could not hate him for this; she could not follow the edict of blackfeather and promise death if he returned. wintersbane had served the woodland faithfully, savagely — he had been pious before the gods, and whatever endeavour he set upon now would be blessed by them.
this relmyna knew.
the gaze that shone toward his once more shimmered with unshed tears, but she was not aggrieved, nor was she wounded. hers was an emotion reserved for those who wished the wolves of their heart to thrive, and was wintersbane not one of these?
go with my blessing, the listener mouthed — the first and the only time she would act with such finality as mouthpiece of the gods.