Felltree Marsh Aholehole

Her question earned a blink, a furrowed brow and a peculiar smile. Masquerade’s head tipped a few degrees, wondering if it had been a stupid question. “The coast” meant nothing to her, though. For all she knew, it was the name of another pack.

But the young man described a landmark of sorts. Well, he notably mentioned water, though Masque didn’t know what he meant by “big water.” She had never even seen a lake, much less the sea, and if she’d heard tell of these things, she couldn’t recall.

His expression shifted into something stranger still. Although he’d obliged her with a description, there was a hint of ridicule in his question. Masque’s ears flicked backward, her eyes angling toward the rise, its silhouette barely discernible in the dark.

She hesitated, though only for a moment, before telling him, I was born on the rise. I’ve never really left. Masque gestured toward it properly. Redtail Rise. My mother’s the ruler. I’m Masque.