Moonspear cold mountain

Quiet was good enough for Alya. She was hoping for a boring winter even as she prepared herself for the worst. She would settle for dull and hungry and dreary if only it meant that nothing worse would befall them. So mention of the lack of prey did not yet make her anxious, but being reminded of one of their nearest neighbors certainly did.

"Not today," she agreed, coming to stand nearby him. "I know their days as mere children are numbered, but I'd still prefer to keep them away from the borders." This seemed especially silly when said aloud; it was nearly time for their mother to whelp again, and Alya was still bound and determined to keep them from strangers. "My sisters and I were already tearing down strangers at the borders when we were their age. I used to dream about having big sons and daughter who'd do just the same — but now that they're here, all I want to do is protect them from such things."

It was good that she had not whelped first. Perhaps surviving this litter had helped train her out of her most over-protective instincts.

"From our neighbors especially," she went on in a dry tone, pointing with her nose toward the Haunted Wood.