Heron Lake Plateau Hamrer hippyer.

Niamh wasn’t the kind of wolf who went full-on hermit often. If anything, she was more the sort to get cabin fever and need to stretch her legs- but nothing gave her the motivation, presently. She’d tried to carry on after losing her rank, spirits slightly buoyed by Towhee’s loyalty, but since she’d told Colt off for good and had found out that Bruges had been attacked and killer by a cougar, she retreated to her den and stayed put. 

It was a sad sort of pity party, and she didn’t know what to grieve first or if she was really grieving the loss of both males. It hadn’t taken her long to feel bad about how she’d spoken to Colt and began to condemn herself for her idiotic behavior. Maybe Quixote was right- maybe she was childish and too quick to pull the trigger. All facts pointed to him being right, as much as she hated to acknowledge it. She still couldn’t believe that Bruges was gone- and blamed herself for his death. She’d been the one to send him away, after all.

Filled with grief and doubt, she’d tuned the world out, holed up in the den she used to share with someone she did not deserve.