Blackfeather Woods & i've been sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool for a while now

her eyes darken a little when maegi offers words that should reassure. however it wasn't the point, one could never know what may or may not happen. that is why you had to always be vigilant, present. she should not have spent such a large amount of her time wandering away from the woods she'd claimed to be so devoted to. it would've been bad enough had she been a mere subordinate but tundra had been one of its leaders, she had taken on part of the responsibility of everything within the tall trees and yet had still leisurely "wandered". her gaze hardens, tail flicking at her hocks. yet nothing could be done now, that was the hardest part. the past would forever sneer at her from the shadows, as it always had. 

ears flick at the end of the nona's sentence...won't survive? "leave?" she echoes, body completely still. what was blackfeather woods without...well without blackfeather woods? it sounded stupid, a pack was the wolves not the territory they inhabited. yet it was different here...the forest, the wolves, they were the pack. what was one without the other? she knows deep down that maegi would make the right decision and she knew the other cared for this place, she wouldn't drop it for nothing. it was just...a bit of a shock. "where would you's go?" she asks quietly. do you mean relocate or disband? her eyes seek the desperately for the question she could not bring herself to utter. bertók perches lightly on her shoulder, rustling his feathers uneasily as she worries at her lip.

she nods distractedly, eyes tugged towards the shifting darkness beyond this conversation. would they be abandoned for any to walk through? her heart clenches. the mountains, it would be nice to have them relocate to somewhere so near if they had to. a soft sigh drifts forth as she blinks. "that would be really nice maegi...my heart, i believe it'll always belong to blackfeather." it's spoken with solemn honesty for as true a fact as it was she sometimes wished it weren't true. to be fickle in nature would come with much less hardship. 

she doesn't wish to leave yet there is nothing more she can think to say as she falls quiet, ears leaning towards the soft familiar whistle of the trees and casting a sidelong glance at the quiet rowan. what did he make of all this?