Firefly Glen barefoot in the kitchen, sacred new beginnings

Keeping vague. After meeting with Solpallur and Stjornuati.

For once, her stomach was not snarling demands into the wilderness. Freshly fed and rested, Meadow had slipped from the two wolves who not only tolerated her presence… but seemed to welcome it? Baffled, the diminuitive waif dare not question it for now, and instead offered them space, almost expecting them to have moved on without her in her absence.

The Glen was not far from where they were—one wolf, a nomadic warrior, the other, a roguish healer. Both rakish in appearance, and yet the only description she could offer of them both would be that they seemed to steal the wild in every motion and manner.

These thoughts consumed her—why did she dwell on them so much?—and so only when she skirted forward did she come to her senses, her heart instantly shuttering nervously in her chest as her eyes grazed over the unknown male. “I—sorry!” The outburst seemed ill-timed, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to intrude on another during their quiet meal.