Shadowwyn Moor relinquo

No denials came. His words in their finality ward her off.

He had been so good to them. He was cherished- he was honorable-

But her paws anchor. It is the woman who ultimately stops her, the voice that pools burdened and strained by an aching pain that begs for more of it. This is Wren, she realizes, from what Gunnar in his final delirium had recounted, who now bears the cost for some dark thing Germanicus has done.

A younger version of herself would have followed the ranger into the drylands, demanding to know why. She lets him go. Who mattered was before her, this starving wolf of the valley who needed help.

Her eyes cut to Akavir who stands a ways off, in his face she sees none of the old warmth he might have once reserved for a wolf of her kind.

She turns back to Wren, chancing a low step, though keeping wary lest the move be unwelcomed by either, “I’ve got a cache nearby. Can I bring you something to eat?”