Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

Progress, however slight. The comment about hearing drew a soft chuckle from Aitana’s chest, and she tilted her head, the motion casual yet appraising.

“Maybe you’re right,” she replied, her voice carrying the same teasing lilt.

At the observation about her origins, Aitana gave a slight shrug. “I take it neither are you, unless wolves in these parts make a habit of offering prayers in weird tongues.”

The ancient speech had caught her attention as much as the wolf herself, and Aitana’s curiosity burned too brightly to ignore. She stepped a pace closer, though still careful to leave enough space to seem nonthreatening.

“So, what brings you here? A new claim? A pilgrimage?"