Lion Head Mesa good enough, never good enough

The woman thanked him, but Crowfeather did not know who she was or what role she played in Akashingo’s formation. After fretting over it for several minutes, he had convinced himself that it didn’t matter much. The dark wolf was there only out of kindness, he helped because he had been shown how, but he didn’t answer to these wolves or their Pharaoh. Even thinking this, Crowfeather could feel his heartbeat quicken, his throat growing dry with the taste of saltlick.

Who are you? To- to Akashingo? the seer inquired quietly. His lantern eyes lifted to the woman’s features as he waited to see what answer she might offer. Each wolf who had gathered at the mesa seemed to be vastly different from the others. Perhaps it was a place for those who did not fit anywhere else.