Wild Berry Meadow o, how my flesh summers

Terrible at directions was what both she-wolves seemed to inherit; it’d only been because of Greyback’s and Wintersbane’s guidance that she’d ever reached the coast in the first place, all those moons ago. When the hinter-wolf questioned of her living area, Aure mused, “Yes, just over ze range, in a pack called Diaspora... for now, anyways.” For now.

“As for ze berries, well, they’re for the pleasure of simply... eating,” Aure hummed, rolling one scrawny shoulder as her thoughts drifted into frostive memories. Memories once so repressed, which would come to resurface unforgivingly in the next days to come. “There is... black-berry, rasping-berry, and blues-berries. I am sure there are more sorts of berries, but...”

Shaking her boney figure with a wobbly stand, Aure listed to one bristly bush — puckering up with red, dimpling produce. “I know that rasping-berries have anti-inflammatory properties,” skirting about it to wander to the darker harvests, “and that black-berries do ze same, but moreso with swelling and irritation, especially... ah, bowel movements.”

“Blues-berries—“ Aure paused then, teetering on three paws to awkwardly scratch at an itch at the pale bulb of her ear. “Blues-berries, I’m not too sure about. They are my favorites, however; never ze small, pebbly ones, though.” With that, she resituated herself back on four paws and looked to the expecting mother, hazy.