Hideaway Strath Long Live The Queen!

The world was cold, bitter, stilled by the harshness of a winter that chilled the half-blood at times to the bone. Perhaps not as plush, dense furred as his full-blooded cousins and without herbs to search for had hidden away within the safety of the pack territory for the most part. His mind wanders however... Wanders where his long legs could no longer. He thinks of Dove as often he does. He thinks of the night wolf, @Zsuzsa, who had seemed to be lost to them by the storms. And he thinks of @Leigh, who seemed to have changed bu the trails which she had since endured here. Maybe they all had changed, for better or for worse.

And then his leader calls out to them all. It is not an angry cry, a call to battle or one of distress. There is a strength to it, a pride. Hemlocke is curious but both weary. Last a gathering had been made a slaughter had occurred. The warlock wondered if more blood would be fed to the land.

He slinks quietly along the overcast winter day, remaining to the protection of the shade for the most part still. When he arrives, it is to see already a few gathered and a new face he did not recall. She was dressed in odd patterns along her coat, but they were mostly all odd, werent they? Nyra was the biggest woman he had ever seen. His leader was stripped with a boxy muzzle and rounded off ears. Dove wore her head-dress, feathers in her fur. The hellhound smiles.