Ravensblood Forest just don't know if i can do it all again, she said it’s true

astara had known the pale warrior followed, for she had paid special attention to the crunch of pine straw underfoot. bemused, yet remaining the composure of a wolf outwardly indifferent, astara continued her descent downhill. 

she was used to followers; a life of silence meant she was accustomed to some degree of invasive personalities. it was not as if she possessed the ability to tell these wanderers and squatters in her life to fuck off. 

accepting her new shadow in the form of the white goliath, astara picked up speed; here the scent of freshwater was crisp and delightful, and she knew she was close.