Boartusk Heights black-tailed

It is dusk when the wind picks up, masking the scent if not the sounds of the coy’s movements when she hikes the steep slope to a wolven camp. She had lost the messenger’s scent the night prior to a thickening wind. Now her distrust goes well beyond that of mere political machinations. This is a land she does not know.

And all she can think about is how an innocent man has been stolen in Muat-riya’s name, beneath the waving emblem of Eset’s reign.

She pushes on, a howl raised for pleading answer of any near.