Falls of the Hinterlands Hope that they don't think I'll forget about them

wintersbane travels further than he's originally set out too, paws carrying him south and just a little west of the bay. recruitment has been, once more, slotted into the forefront of his mind and consumes his focus and thus he excuses the travel. they could wait for wolves to come to them, sure, but when umbra saw fit to chase them off for whatever little nuance they annoyed her with it doesn't seem like that's going to be a liable option.

following the winding, serpentine water; drawn by simple curiosity born of the sound of rushing water. though he's came across scents fading and fresh peppered among the cold earth of the terrains he moves across, the tundrian has yet to come across a possible recruit. as it always does, it feels strange to traverse the hinterlands; reminding him, perhaps a bit too much, of hazy memories of teaghlaigh, his mobster father and the nightingale queen he called mother. of his numerous fights with a sister he was all too happy to disown ( and would've been happier to kill ).

deeper he goes towards the heart of the falls, the thicker the mist becomes; cloaking the landscape and eagerly swallowing him in tendrils of fog thick with water. a shape begins to appear, cutting thru the mist and it takes wintersbane a second to realize that he recognizes her, if vaguely. he does not, however, recognize the pack scent clinging to her pelage.

arlette? he inquires.