Qeya River fables

star eater watches the girl with a quiet intensity, the flicker of the den’s dim light catching in her golden eyes. she is young. soft. unmoored. she does not smell of a pack—of family, of home.
where did you come from? her voice is even, but there is something pointed in her tone. she has seen enough of the world to know that wolves do not wander alone unless something has sent them into the wilds.
she shifts, drawing a bundle of dried herbs closer to her, sorting them absentmindedly between her paws. why are you unattended?
there is no accusation in the question, only curiosity laced with something heavier. she is no fool. she knows what the world does to those without shields, without names strong enough to make others think twice. she knows what happens to girls without homes.