Stavanger Bay city life, pocket camp

Moorhen had no way of knowing that she had not been born here, but on the cliffs of Donnelaith. To her, it didn't matter. Whatever call the bay had held for her had been killed the day she'd met her brother there. But his claim had disintegrated, now, to be replaced the the scent of strangers - and even that did not smell quite as solid as it should be.

For now, the wind raged and the waves crashed, and Moorhen could only wonder at the natural Cairn inability to tame the bay. She wondered if the new wolves would have better luck - not knowing that their common blood made it impossible. If she'd known that more Cairns had come, she would have shaken her head. She would have contemplated telling them that they did not have the constitution for their aims, that their blood made them naturally and irrevocably unable to hold on to the bay for any solid length of time.

But she did not know.

Moorhen snuffled around the borders for a moment before deciding that Thresher was not among them. So she left.