Whitefish River I like the honey, not the honeybee

It was early and for once the constable was not on her paws halfway around the territory. With the growling tremors that plagued their lands as of late, Ira had been patrolling almost constantly looking for any damage or a source, she thought she might sleep in for once to rest until a booming howl beckoned her from the waves of unconsiousness.

At first, she thought she imagined it, the only one she knew with lungs like that was her father, but surely he was back in the plains of Easthollow. Perhaps it was another tremor playing tricks on her mind. It wasn't until Dawn called that she shortly realized she was not imagining things, someone was at their borders.

Rising slowly, the roan wolf shook the sleep from her legs as she made her way to the river, Dawn and Firefly stood dwarfed next to the mountain of a man that was Easthollow's patriarch. If this was some other time she would not be so surprised to see him, but she had only returned recently from her own travels over the mountain. Father? What brings you here?