Bearclaw Valley however dangerous this may be

A gathering amassed, affording Phoebe the first opportunity to take in just what the numbers of Ursus were. It was a modest amount, she thought, even if it was meager compared to where she had first grown. It didn't seem like there was any real sort of connection between all of them and strangely, it was a relief to be among a motley crew.

She lingered on the fringes of the group, attentive to the words and introduction that Merrick offered of the wolfdog. Ulysses was nothing she had seen before, his size alone an intimidating factor if not for the disarming nature that seemed to exude from him—she found herself returning his smile as nothing more than another face in the crowd. Placating, if nothing else.

This would take getting used to.

And the others?

Her gaze filtered through them with mixed emotions, already trying to pick out who in the crowd seemed to be on equal ground with her. The gentle ones, the helpers, if there were any to truly be had. There was a cord of tension somewhere, perhaps unease a better word. She wondered if the untold story between Merrick and Ulysses had prompted one or the other to begin their little crusade of collecting the wayward in fewer but kinder terms.

A pack of fresh faces, relative strangers, would it work? It seemed to have.

Her gaze shifted back to Merrick and those closest to him.