Swiftcurrent Creek Sound the bugle now, play it just for me

Isn't it so strange how time keeps going on, even when you don't want it to?
At some point, Wren had drifted home following her argument with Arric and her solitude at the lake, and to no one did she speak. Work. Work was now her driving force when she could not return to the shore, watch the ducks; checking borders, hunting for the stores — where there was, perhaps, now an overwhelming pile of voles and hares — and sleeping anywhere but here. Her empty den served only as a reminder.
But she still waited. She promised.
It was the sharp tang of an obvious Riverclan scent at the border that drew her in today, one that drove saltwind bitterness straight through her chest. She approaches with caution; eyes reddened and puffy, fur tousled and seemingly stuck in perpetual brine. She looked like shit, frankly, but now was not the time to care.
You, she points with a tip of her muzzle. you're from Riverclan, right? Just makin' sure. regardless of his answer, her brow would furrow. Can we help you?