Blackfeather Woods she is the fairies' midwife, and she comes

she repeats the name but he notes that it doesn't bring with it noticeable recognition within her. he's left to assume that she's either new to these wilds or has been fortunate enough to live in a pack that the whispers of their pack have not touched. the latter seems unlikely but he supposes it can happen, especially if the packs and wolves are newer to the wilds. no, it's not. the dark whispers of the woods will call to those who of a similar cut of the wolves that dwell within it, and ward off those whom aren't.

there is a whisper in his skull; less of a word and more of a feeling. faint and as quick as it appears it slips from him like smoke between fingers. wintersbane doesn't trust anyone he doesn't know — but the whisper fills him with suspicion. perhaps it's unwarranted but he listens to it. there is a familiarity to her dark coat and violet eyes that, again, draws to his mind his earmucher ...but nothing else was remotely familiar about this woman. bjørn. He offers simply. Not quite a lie ...but not the full truth either. it's been some time since he's felt the impulse to offer a name other than wintersbane and he'll take that urge to compartmentalize later.