Moonspear her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs

She's drifted by here a couple of times and noticed the pack scent, but paid it no mind before. Now, though, with her grandchildren fast on the way, she is wary of neighbors both near and far. What are they like? What is their temperament? Are there any grudges between the wolves of the mountains and the Melonii?

Megara will not see the next generation born into a land of faces unfamiliar to the old rogue. She will know them all, if only to impart that information to the pups, so they can tread as carefully and intelligently as they can in this new world.

She lets out a low, calm howl at the base of the mountain, where the claim begins, and then stands patiently, the early evening sun gleaming a rich blue-brown off her dark pelt. All the while, her eyes drift up the peak, looking for sentries.