Blackfoot Forest Flykte

This wolf had the blessing of the gods, made clear with the ringing of the caws, and the white raven dropping to dance, and dangle, smile and wrangle. Maiken was Svartravn, but she knew that to anger even one of the gods, no matter who you followed was wrong, as was anything against any of the gods.

The whispered words of her kin dripped off the pale wolf's lips, as if she was born to it as Mai was. They were born to it, both of them. Their birthright, was it not. To be from the same branches of different trees, but still the same, did they bleed the same? Did they hurt the same? The answer was always yes. There was no difference other than the shade of their fur, and the way they worshipped. Could Mai properly condemn another? No she could not, she was a healer, a neutral party. Despite how cold her father had tried to make her such.

As are you, pale queen. The language of their people dripped off of her tongue. The same cadence, the same pronunciation. What was it again that caused such unrest? Why did they fight so?