Seaside Moors Once, you know, you were my friend.

Raleska hid the flicker of annoyance that darted across her mind as Wintersbane casually swept aside the mention of a target on his back. Did he not know how much Rusalka had lost when they fought Drageda? Raleska buried the memory of Eurycrates, of Ephraim, of her mother -- every one of them scrabbling for their piece in the memory-limelight.

Perhaps that was the fallacy of men; they never thought anything could be their downfall unless they explicitly permitted it. Raleska believed Wintersbane was being too casual, but she huffily packed this belief away and soldiered on.

On one front, they agreed -- the Moors were indefensible. Raleska had never cared for this place, but they'd arrived here out of necessity. "We are seawolves." Raleska said almost immediately, without even a moment's hesitation. Her blood was overturned with salt; her children's blood ran with salt -- taking them from the coast would be like taking them from their birthright. She guiltily corrected herself - she had no children.

"There are three territories I can think of that would make me feel safer." She wondered if he, well traveled as he was, would know of them. "One is a stony fortress to the north of us. Follow the coast and you will not miss it. I believe there is one other pack on the coast, but I do not know who -- or what -- they are. The further north you go, the less charitable the landscape is.  There are two territories to the deep north. One is where I was born, and I know that place better than any. The other territory is our old enemy's stomping grounds. The sheer cliffs make it difficult to raid, and that worked to our detriment when we were in the Sound.  It's more advantageous to be on higher ground, we've found."