Panther Park Then surely I'll do the same,

Not much for words either, it seemed. A dismissive “Eh, yeah,” and that was all. Finley knew little of the neighboring packs, only vaguely that at least one was to the north—more than that, really; there was still land above Ravensblood, which she assumed the Saints’ original enemies claimed—a traveling monarch had passed the south, and the east remained a mystery. Further exploration could come later, however, not in this weather and certainly not in her condition. Hell forbid Finley got caught by the Saints again.

The question bounced back to her court. She hadn’t determined whether the stranger was friend or foe, or if it’d even be sane to deliver a warning. More omission it was, then. “Likewise.”

At least the conversational tone indicated the stranger didn’t seek a fight, either. Small talk it was, then, interrogative as Finley defined it. “Headed somewhere?” Already she anticipated the rebound; in addendum, “Seems calmer on the plains, if you don’t mind the rain.” No promises, of course, that Finley would be there—but if the stranger had been around long at all, surely she’d heard of the danger in the cliffs. And if she hadn’t, a baffled reaction would be just as revealing.