Qeya River tu el aire que respiro yo

"we do." silvertongue's gaze watched the nails of her own forepaw for a moment. buffing the dirt from their curves, her glassblue eyes flickered to those of wren, and she lifted her chin. "one of the men we chose this year knows we are here. he offered no danger. but he knows. he is a swiftcurrent wolf," silvertongue went on, her tone adopting a subtle archness as her eyes traveled now the little sprawl of wildflowers. "perhaps he followed akavir here." no anger either, to match; a question.