Kintla Flatlands my travel

Mordecai understood sleep deprivation. It had happened to him more than once, though not so much as of recently. Whatever the reason, whether it was the return of his confidence or a sense of purpose, he found that he slept soundly. It was better than the alternative by all accounts. But he chose not to comment on it, only nodded sympathetically at the notion. It simply happened to some, for whatever the reason. His had stemmed out of stress, which while there was still plenty of that to be found, he had discovered his ways of keeping it down.

And while Star did not go spewing the Creek's business, he still gathered information that was important to him. Whoever Scimitar was, he seemed to be holding his pack together. That on its own was more valuable to him than whether or not the pack was on the verge of collapsing, though that tidbit would have been interesting — if it had been. “That's good to know. With winter coming, it would be a shame if anyone out there was faltering. I suppose, anyway. I'm sure there are those who would rather see a neighboring pack go to pieces.” And how he felt about that, well, he hadn't decided. The Spine did have its neighbors, but like the Creek, his knowledge of them only went so far.