Ravensblood Forest the tree who cried crimson

Derg carried on amicably, asking for further prompting. Again it struck Finley as unusual; who welcomed the nose of a near-stranger into their life and habits? Was he so willing to trust her on the mere basis of being packmates? Still his voice and demeanor were void of hostility, leaving her little choice but to follow.

It was dawning on Finley that she didn’t converse often, let alone carry one. Interactions with wolves she’d had during most of her travels were quick, useful, to-the-point. And she certainly hadn’t enjoyed a casual atmosphere before exile. But maybe she could get used to it.

“What brings you to the Saints?” she asked cordially, deciding to resist the barrage of questions she wanted to spring on the hapless male. Donovan had informed her of Derg’s supposed homelessness prior to the Saints’ welcome, but perhaps Derg himself saw it differently.