Whitebark Stream when I was a young warthog

she withdraws, gaze moving once more over the wolf that stands before her. he's filled out, changed, in a dozen small ways she can't quite name. it's been two seasons since she's seen him last, she thinks; though with all that's happened and the tired cloud that's only begun to clear up within her skull, she can't be certain. nevertheless, while she's learned not to count on family to keep close all the time, she is glad to see her nephew here for however long he might stay, be it months, weeks, of only a few moments. too many have slipped in and out of her life for her to try to clutch any of them close to her for long, and she is no stranger to that itching wanderlust of youth. 

"there's a group living in the mountains, called the saints. they're bad people, and their leader attacked me." she offers, making no effort to make light of the situation. "his name is donovan — he's big, black n' white, with a messed-up tail." the huntress smiles ruefully, adding, "though I guess mine is too, now." 

it was pain to deal with, and she was ever glad for the steady presence of artyom in her life. "how've you been — where've you been?" she prompts, settling back on her haunches. she'd never really known the rest of valiant's siblings; aeryn remained a blank, and minnow had resisted her attempts to connect. she'd never been as close to valiant as she'd have liked, and would not waste the opportunity to learn more about him and his travels now.