Whitefish River gone fishin’

@Ira sorry for the wait! date can be adjusted, vaguely assuming it’s late August/early September. also assuming Fin learned some names; tags for reference

Rain had a funny way of making the days pass: too slow, and not slow enough. The fact Finley had spent much of it in a muddled daze of sleeping, hunting, resting again, did not help. Though her will to linger diminished by the day, an unspoken debt tethered her by Whitefish River; refilling the caches was the least she could do for Kaistleoki, whose shelter she’d accepted with a healthy amount of hesitation. Better in a pack lands than alone, in this endless storm.

There was also that gnawing curiosity: what had become of the wolves who’d dragged her here—or, well, vice versa? She’d lingered by @Speedy’s den for a time but, given her obliviousness to medical know-how, Finley thought her presence unneeded. And then, it seemed, just as suddenly as she’d run into her, @Orlaith had disappeared. (The leader too had risen at some point in Finley’s absence, but seeing as she’d known Ira thus far only as an unconscious body, the inevitable heal and leave weighed far less in Finley’s mind.)

Odd. It wasn’t as though Orlaith had any real obligation to stick around, bid farewell—and neither did Finley, in a pack’s territory, in the ex-guard’s absence. Still, routine postponed her leave. The day caught Finley in what had quickly become her usual regimen: standing by the river’s southeast edge, where the pack’s scent had started to fade, eyes fixed on the rapids. At last the downpour had slowed to a drizzle, the sky rendered white by a midday overcast—a respite, after everything.

ugh sorry I've had 10million new threads over the past week or two LOL thank you for starting <3

How many days have passed? The Count wasn't too sure anymore. Everything had been a haze since she woke up, a mix of conscious and unconsciousness while the rain poured. Eventually came the time where she was rested enough to keep awake and the urge to stretch her legs became too strong.

Each step ached, she wasn't sure if Speedy would approve or if this was just necessary to get back on her feet. After all, she had to regain the strength in her leg when she broke it, this had to be the same. Grotesque scarring ran up her side, exposed by singed fur, supposedly from lighting. What she was even doing out that far was unclear, but what she did know was that two others had come in.

Perhaps that was why she was not startled by the stranger she spotted well within their land. It could have been an intruder, but her pelt had hints of Kaistleoki, perhaps her masked savior. Ira called out with a chuff hoping to gain the woman's attention through the rain as she slowly made her way closer. You're a new face.

Spica hadn't really ever expected to see Finley, the Saints of the Dying Light wolf again. Much less in her own pack. So when she saw the wolf just inside their territory staring at the river and recognised her, she was surprised as heck. Spica got closer, but before she could reach the old acquaintance her leader showed up. Spica didn't know Ira very well, but enough to know to respect her. Spica hadn't felt much at home lately here -- her visits to the den and the baby siblings were sporadic at best as she struggled between hurt and jealousy and wanting a place in her siblings' lives -- and she and Syrma had talked of leaving lately. But it was hard to take such a step. For all of Spica's big talks, she had a little heart and thinking of leaving this on bad terms with her family hurt, even if she'd never admit it.

As Spica approached, ignoring the rain, she said: Hey - fancy seeing you here. Surprise was in her voice as she addressed Finley, and then nodded respectfully to Ira in greeting, body language neutral.