Sea Lion Shores she's the first in line at the party

stormrift. a name fitting a pack led by a man such as the one before her; one she would one day like to see. the wind over the wave pushed and tugged at her pelt; the man was still and as was she, for she'd inheritted the thick mantle of her father's line. the man's face adopted a sudden intensity then, lips adopting a thoughtful frown. her own brow furrowed a fraction in reaction to this sudden turn of face, but his next question made it obvious he thought her someone else. for a beat, she knew not if Donnelaith was a name or a pack, she decided the latter must be true. a shake of her head, and "no—Morningside. it was my father's pack before mine." again, the latter piece of information was not required, and she wondered a moment why she supplied it. perhaps, she thought, she wished to instill pieces of their story in strangers, so it may in some way live on.