Deepwood Weald giggle at a funeral

Killdeer had briefly checked in on the festivities, smiling at the reverie, but had departed soon after. It filled him with the joy of loving Amalia—and their future. Courtship, love, babies. . .

He took the long way back, though, entering the weald for a spell before returning to the Moonspear.

Turned out, he was not alone.

Good evening, Killer told the young woman, smiling as he approached. She smelled of Forneskja, but wasn't a face he knew. (Though come to think of it, he had woefully little knowledge of their neighbor pack. Perhaps he ought to get to know them better. . .and with Pie in tow, too, given her ambition.)

He looked up just as she had, toward the twinkling stars, and then returned his gaze to hers. Beautiful night, he remarked. I'm Killdeer, from Moonspear.