Hushed Willows álfardómstólinn

As they patrolled, they were mindful not to cross the border as they did not know the full details of what they wanted from a relationship with this pack. Valmúa at least, tough hot-headed, had no desire to instill anger from their neighbours — at least not without cause. Stjornuati echoed her thoughts. Should they have trouble with these Hushed Willows wolves, they were unlikely to be outgunned.
They were not inspecting the border for very long before someone found them skulking. Val's ears swivelled to the sound of her approach. She stopped and lifted her head. A a long-legged, sprite of a wolf stood before them. She had strange eyes and was dipped in black points.
She remembered Stjornuati, but Valmúa did not look at him. She inspected the Willows wolf with an almost scientific eye. Perhaps this elegant little wolf would make Stjornuati a suitable wife. Such a pairing would build needed diplomacy, after all. Good, you know each other, said Valmúa firmly, though she should have clued in to the fact that her brother was just as likely to have had a bad encounter than a good one.