Ravensblood Forest the tree who cried crimson

So the story hadn’t changed. No home: “I lost my pack.” Welcomed by the Saints: “Donovan took me in.” Derg sounded rather passive about the entire affair, as though he could have been found by any old leader and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. Had Donovan shared the pack’s vision with the scarred wolf at all? But Finley withheld any commentary, and was certain to keep her face unchanging, forward-looking. How to phrase the rest…

But Derg offered a question of his own. Without thinking Finley gave the standard answer she’d provided many a passerby: “I’ve been traveling.” No, not anymore—“Was traveling.” Hm, that sounded just as spineless. The answer suited a fellow traveler, but less so a packmate. It was only fair, she supposed, to give an honest answer in turn. “Donovan’s made grand promises for the future of the Saints. No sane wolf would pass the opportunity to be part of it.”

It wasn’t as though Finley would have jumped at the first wolf to offer her a pack, a home, something. Anything. She’d never be so desperate, and of this she was doubtless.