Seaside Moors and then my eyes go dark,

That was news to Nieve. Maybe she should've known that turmoil and risk was simply their way of life, having lived with these wolves since the first breath of hers, but she'd always been much too idealistic. She'd ignored the turmoil in her childhood and their time on the plateau was mostly quiet save for the three sisters. Only now was she realizing the precarious position that Rusalka found itself in, and only now was it digging into her usual optimism.
Who would we ask? she wondered. Were there any packs on the coast that would lend a hand to aid them? They had nothing to offer in return. Too few adults to feed the mouths that soon would beg for food. Too few wolves to spare any to serve as ambassadors. She privately opined that they were still better off on their own than hoping for the kindness of strangers, but she wasn't convinced they could do it on their own.
I'm not a very good hunter, she mentioned. Do you think Rosencrantz would trade hunting duty with guard duty? I could watch the borders more so he could hunt more. Even with his disfigurement, he was probably better at securing food than she was, if she had to guess.