Bearclaw Valley like phony clothes, but i really like my

And notice her, she finally did.

It came at first by way of some unsettling notion as she raked at the earth, but she tried not to give it so much thought. This was hardly the first time Phoebe had felt the brushing sense of danger close—if anything, she had to wait until it was a certain growing pit of dread before she would fully detract from her own actions. Had she thought this more of a wild and untamed sort of place, say like the very hinterland she had come from to begin with, she may have abandoned her duty sooner.

Yet the passage of time from one point to another did not take long to reach, and once that nagging feeling breached the forefront of her thoughts, she gave in to careful pause with a breath that was a bit too shaky for her liking. A grand, deviant betrayal to the calm gathering she put into her actions thereafter, and the turn of her head revealed someone snaking about in the growth just beyond her radius of awareness.

For a moment, her eyes watched Astara carefully, before the swell of her flank explained to Phoebe that she was no stranger. She was one of Merrick's, though a bit more than just some commoner rallied to his cause. Phoebe didn't know any better of what to think of her other than she was evidently of a higher station and presumably, Merrick's mate.

"Hello," she offered gently, though submission had well begun to eke its way into her features. Astara was a commanding force, sharp and harsh in figure as much as she was in that keening gaze. Phoebe knew this look, though she could not recall if it had ever been so pointed in her direction before; it reminded her of her mother, of Raven, and suddenly of the plateau and it's broad lake, and it tore her gaze away from the matron severely.