Black Morass sakoku

The dark figure was relieved when she accepted his assistance, though it was not likely he would be able to offer much to her. Crowfeather hoped she would task him with any help she might desire. 

As the woman set to work on her items, he carefully watched her. The dark wolf was mindful not to invade the space where she organized her items. Crowfeather did not wish to disturb the process that seemed of such importance. He was interested in what she said, though. 

The woman spoke of the group she belonged to, hoping to follow them only to vanish from where they would settle. Crowfeather thought this curious. He had noted the fragrance of the Saints on her pelt. She had not demonstrated herself to be anything like the other wolves from that pack. Was she a captive, he wondered with a fearful glance to her face. 

Crowfeather nodded as she explained the meaning of each totem placed. It made sense, but perhaps only to those who knew to look. He did not tell her this. 

I believe I have run into those you speak of, he said gently. Chills swept his frame. The Saints- and all of them were proud of their name. When the pale yellow in his eyes sought her features again, he wondered how she might have found herself in their mix. You do not seem like them.