Mudminnow River orinoco flow

Nyra said she knew of Rivenwood. What did she know? Druid wondered. Her lips parted as if she might ask, then pressed together a moment later when the she-wolf sniffed closer to her. Druid tensed all over, tolerating the inspection in silence. It didn’t occur to her to return the favor, though Nyra’s scent did grow stronger in her nose due to their proximity. It was just as foreign as everything else about her.

She seemed intrigued by the snake, which was a fairly typical reaction. Druid’s lips drew into a soft smile as she politely corrected, She’s a she. I watched her hatch. She’s stayed with me ever since. Her own gaze trailed admiringly over the little ringneck snake, looking at her as though through a stranger’s eyes for a moment. She wondered if Nyra had noticed their matching collars, which was a magical sort of coincidence.

Her young brain circled back to her earlier question and Druid paused before deciding it was a good time to pose one similar. Have you met the leader, Mahler? And though it wasn’t directly related, curiosity compelled her to ask another. Where do you—and the Saints—live?