Lost Creek Hollow i think my blood is passing me by

A home now shared; a home not haunted. Not anymore.
While they wait beneath the brittle canopy of November's frost, Wren dips down to place her wrists beneath Silvertongue's head so that she may have a place to rest — a metaphorical coat thrown over a puddle so that she may not have to wet her feet. Wrenstar. Wrenglow. Wrenflight. She had not thought that perhaps her name here would change according to Riverclan's culture. It felt odd, adopting something that was not hers; was it now hers? She supposed the star Ash Paw would be the one to decide this. She joins her lover with her own call; we are home.
She thought briefly of Akavir. It would hurt his heart to know that Wren had returned to the valley and had not come to Swiftcurrent, and yet she could not find it within herself to care; could not let herself be swallowed by it. There were no regrets to be found here.