Qeya River Shadowblight

The pittance Shadowpaw had dispensed to him was quickly spent.

But she gave a crumb more.

Wake couldn’t help giving a small breath back into the balloon of his ego. Her interest in where he might go was no small feat— if this short encounter was any indication of what she was like as a whole.

He motioned to the south. The valley. Where the fields and forests touch the mountains. He thought of the orange leaves and green pines dashed with winterwhite; the squat peaks first to light each day and left longest in shadow; the fragrant meadow, blanketed and surging like a frozen sea, the promise of a cornucopian bloom on the horizon.

I will make roots for a pack there, Fates willing.

Then, to her, an anticipatory farewell: And may your search bear fruit as well, Shadowpaw.