Neverwinter Forest kettle drum roll hard

It was a new day, and still Magpie avoided the reckoning that likely awaited her in Redhawk Caldera. She felt paralyzed— she felt sick at the thought of returning there, and sick at the thought of returning to the Corvidae without accomplishing what she had struck out to do. Somehow, Fox and Peregrine felt like family to the yearling. And though her time with Peregrine in particular had been brief, he felt like the father figure Magpie never had. But they were more traditional than the Corvidae, which the dark female assumed also meant less forgiving. She knew the longer she put it off, the angrier they were likely to be— but it was that same anger that made her question whether she should continue on this mission at all.

She wandered through the great pine forest, inhaling the fresh scent that hung in the cold air. Here, at least, it didn't feel quite so depressingly winterish. It was surprising that no pack currently claimed the territory; it seemed like a protected fortress, likely to be as cool in the summer as it was warm in the winter. There were signs that it had been inhabited previously, however— and it was as she was investigating an abandoned den (in case of treasures, of course) that the soft sound of grunting caught her attention nearby.

Exiting the den— there were no treasures of note, anyway— Magpie tracked the source of the sounds to a male wolf rubbing his ass against one of the pines. Her brows rose, green eyes definitely judging, though she made no remark. He could be scratching an itch, or he could be scratching an "itch"... but either way, he looked like a fool, and for some reason the yearling wanted him to know it.