Swiftcurrent Creek Tidal

There was a spanning silence between them all—the equivalent comfort of an elevator ride with awkward music. When Eshe appeared, she seemed uncertain of herself—and he studied her quietly, noting no recognition in her eyes as she studied the stranger. “Was she one of the wolves at the swamp?”

Overly cautious, perhaps. Only a fool would come to the scented borders of wolves they had skirmished with only days prior—but he had to make sure.

“If not, and you're amicable to it, Eshe, you can probably tend her wounds, if she wants.” And with that, the man looked back to the she-wolf, his tail shifting through the air, still on alert. He still considered them on lockdown. “On the borders. We're not allowing visitors to just come in for a quick sleep and some of our resources before they leave.” A pointed look was given to the injured woman.