Whitebark Stream we'll build our walls of aluminum

a kiss to frost's forehead, and then her mate, his worry tangible, within sight. she rises, moving to meet him with a fierce longing to draw him close. she presses kisses to her mate's cheek, relief total. worry vanquished, she is left only with the weight of her hurts, exhaustion, and a fierce gladness to be back in her family's arms. "artyom," she breaths, the thrum of her heart finally slowing. 

"the saints, a group in the mountains — I was looking for Surya, a day's south of here. their leader is the same wolf who attacked aphrodite. he threatened us, and attacked me." juniper moves to ask a question; the huntress silences her with a glance that says not now. a kiss to her daughter's cheek instead, and then she continues, though most of her only which to lean into her mates embrace, to sleep for a day in their den. "there was another male there; he fought with me. we split up, I didn't want," she pauses, shifting closer, "to lead him back here. the court helped me, as soon as I could, I came back here." it is an incomplete tale, the details of which she'll fill in when the ears of her children aren't tuned in. a whine, low and longing, and she leans in toward her mate, hurt forgotten a moment as she basks in this simple relief.