Firefly Glen there is no prize to perfection,

No reply came. Treepie didn’t move from the stream, deciding the stranger must not want to meet. That was fine, though now that she’d wandered away from her marking route, she kept walking alongside the water. The incoming rainstorm would wash away the markers, so she may as well wait until afterward to resume.

Someone emerged from the nearby undergrowth, causing Pie to start. She eyed the small wolf, his fur dusky. She thought she detected a slight limp right before he stopped; perhaps it was only her imagination. Her yellow eyes met with his silver ones as he spoke a word she’d never heard before in her life.

No, she agreed, pivoting slightly to face him more directly, I’m not. I’m from Moonspear. She motioned toward the mountain with her muzzle. I am its second-in-command, Tiuttuk Ostrega.

This time, it was the “who are you?” that was left implied. She tipped her head slightly, eyes inquisitive as she wondered about this Forneskja he’d mentioned. Pie was a homebody, not particularly aware of neighbors who weren’t kin, but she wondered if perhaps it was a settlement nearby.