The Tangle the sacred smoke of juniper, and mugwort purifies the air

Three young she-wolves arrived on the edge of the Tangle. Mireille moved toward them, but all Sobo wanted to do was sink into the gnarled trees and disappear. Why was it so damnably difficult to meet new faces? Dey are but prattlin' girls, he berated himself, you be not afraid of dem.

In his teeth were three strips of dried kelp, salt-encrusted and clumsily marked with streaks of charcoal. Each had a tiny shell affixed roughly in the center with sap from bleeding trees. He left them out on the rocks for three nights, allowing the cold ocean air to harden the sap so the shells no longer moved. One shell was a spiral cone, the other two flat fanned things. He didn't know what creatures they came from, exactly.

His heartbeat drummed in his ears as he stepped forward to follow his sister, sticking almost exactly to her shadow. Between the two of them, there was fierce competition at times for recognition and acknowledgement, but in the public eye, there was no question who was the leader between them. Sobo lacked confidence around those he did not know. It was something he desperately wished to overcome, but it was hard.

He came to stand at his sister's side, just behind her shoulder, and peered nervously at the three girls from Rivenwood. He held up the amulets for their inspection with a hesitant wave of his tail. He hoped these gifts might help to convey a sense of friendship where his withdrawn mood failed.