Swiftcurrent Creek You say that you're leaving, well that comes as no surprise

In the golden hour, she was approached. She expected to be greeted by a dark wolf and she was not wrong- though it was not the man whose scent had caught her interest. From where she sat, she watched him from the corner of her eye as he moved toward her, cautioned not to look directly toward him by the posture he held. He was a man of authority, and she readily slid to the ground, tail thumping the snow at her side and ears turned back in appeasement. 

The tone of his voice was gentle, though, and his expression was smooth. She found the most dignified border guards were those who exercised only as much assertion as was necessary, and she would willingly make his job easier for him by obediently keeping herself low. At times, it was the only way to comfortably hold her head below others, though the man who greeted her was tall. 

To his question she grunted a simple answer. "Akavir."