Blacktail Deer Plateau A broken oath.

There was no telling how actively the borders were patrolled. Minerva was still adjusting to the overwhelming scent of the forest, but she tried her best to figure out where the strongest male scents were, and then had to pause and remind herself of the differences between mainland packs and her island home. Anyone could be maintaining these borders. And when she finally settled in to wait, there came the rustling of movement in the foliage.

The crimson-coated woman emerged, dusted lightly by snow, and for a moment the scowl on her face was off-putting. But the pair looked upon one-another and a sense of recognition bridged the gap; the woman might not have the best memory (especially considering their fleeting association) but Minerva was the opposite. This woman had been heavier when they'd first met. Awaiting the birth of her children.

I am Minerva. We have met before — you were with child, but the weight of your worries was greater. She dipped her nose slightly as she gave her name, and afterwards scrutinized the changes in the woman as she spoke the rest. Not so heavy now; thinner than what she should be, Minerva guessed. The chaos of the autumn had been hard on all of them. She thought to ask after the children, but it was not her place. Instead she opted for the truth of her being there: My effort to live upon the coast was thwarted by disaster, as you can likely imagine. I wondered if there was room here?