Ravensblood Forest The white owl in the belfry sits.

You were not living life if you were always looking behind you. If only Stryx were privy to the woman's thoughts, as she would agree, although it did not matter if someone was helping or hindering their fellow wolf in Stryx's eyes, as she had many things to run from too. She kept on moving and used her tutelage and her pledge as the reason for never settling down, but the truth was more sinister. She lived her life feeling pulled in two directions and knew it was wise to keep her wits sharp.

They come and go, but no, not many. The woman asserts with a small shrug. I have helped more than I have taught. I do not have the patience to be a teacher despite what my vows require— and just like that, it feels as if she is back among the crones with the other students, talking to someone who knows the life. It catches Stryx off-guard for a moment and she freezes, becoming tight-lipped, and reminds herself that one of those precious vows was one of silence.

She recovers quickly, and while her tone is a little bit more barbed Stryx means well. You are healing well. I will fetch you something fresh to eat, if you have the appetite. And with that she's extricating herself from the conversation (but keeps an ear out for anything that may delay her).