Gyrfalcon's Keep the rules have changed

i wasn't complaining, he amends with a wily grin tugging at the corners of his lips, tail swaying against his haunches once; twice. slow. lazy, almost.

she speaks of the moonpacks — the coined term falling short of their mark, if only because rusalka wasn't sure he'd heard of them before. perhaps he had, in passing, but until now the presence of the other packs had meant little to the cairn.

that is good, then. as far as rusalka cared to see, it appeared that they already had a paw in the threshold with the moonpacks as they had sought the wolves of hljóðrfell first, according to solveig's words.

solveig decides to send thrya on the mission and though rusalka recognizes it was probably the better move, for just several months ago he'd been quite stony and unsociable; and at any rate, without knowing anything about the moonpacks, going in blind wasn't a great idea.

still, it stung a little even if he knows he is better suited here and on their borders.