Deepwood Weald ships on vigor

Lótë retreated into silence, nodding once more -- sobered by the realization that he must've been lost as a child as her own cubs had been once. Or perhaps worse. Her curiosity was not boundless; the dove refrained from prying into the matter of what had separated Kjalarr from his kin. It wasn't as if she was keen to discuss what had led her to flee home as a youth.

"Might I ask what gods your father worshipped?" This question was more carefully placed, uncertain as she was if it was a painful topic for the pale he-wolf.