Dragoncrest Cliffs Every single one's got a story to tell

The howl catches her attention and, at first, she thinks nothing of it. She does as she would have for any call: adjusted her position and circled to the outsider beckoning for attention. Several minutes into travel, though, the familiar notes still ring through her head through flashes of memory a voice she should recognize. Slowly, the remembrance falls upon her and she realizes who is out there, asking for an audience. Here. Of all places.
 
Having been forced to stay in Drageda instead of fighting alongside the other wolves of San- and Trigeda, it is a surprise to hear the familiar, comforting tones of her oldest son. The last conversation she had with Eastwood hadn’t been pleasant, if you’d even call it that and so her heart sinks. There must be some reason for his arrival, something she can scarcely come to conclusions with, but she moves anyway. It is her duty, now, as fleimkepa to assess the borders when call and she quickly closes the distance.
 
When his scent is wrong upon the air, she steps up and zeros in, watching him from a distance in the thick of the redwoods before she finally emerges. Her face is blank but her mouth hangs ajar just slightly, uncertain what to say and instead lets him make the first move. A few steps and she closes the distance, hoping to get the message across that she’s eager to now his purpose.