Lost Creek Hollow the black hills, the colly

the events of kvarsheim's trial had shaken silvertongue somewhat, though in ways she did not expect. had not expected. it brought to mind her own starlight mortality, how she was much to riverclan but little on her own, and now she would fade even as mother from the minds of the children she had borne. these thoughts ravaged the gossamer of her mind, and desperately she rose, thinking of akavir, of arric, of someone who might hold her through the bleaker hours and drive from her all thoughts for a time. the sharpfang found instead the twitch of coppery blood in the air; she glided through the tall grass, touching shadow to slanted shadow, keepsake of the hollow, until she fairly materialized beside the tall stranger. tomboyish, layered in strength and the dove-brown of good trail-pathing. pretty in the way crowfeather was, all expressive eyes and long limbs. "bienvenido al clan de 
río." jealousy now, a caesar's-stab of it, to see this lithe creature and scent akavir on her, and arric as well, but silvertongue only tilted a cool smile in the gully of a pause. "you are new to the creek."