After their brief visit with Grammaw, who Sæberýn would have loved to bring along with them (but given the intensity of their journeying, worried that it might be too much for poor Grammaw to keep up with), Sæberýn had beelined for the south. Her aunt must have been nearby, and Sæberýn had picked up on the scents of a few pack wolves weaving through the prairies. After catching sight of the river, she’d followed it until scent markers became inevitable. There was a pack on the other side of the river.
Packs could prove to be a wealth of information.
Sæberýn crossed the river with ease. Not once did she flinch at the water’s springtime bite; no, falling into that icy river had done little to dissuade her from venturing into moving waters. In fact, she only thought herself stronger for it. She’d find her brother and rub it in his face that she’d survived. She was just like afi, emerging from the water reborn, a true monster of winter. When she’d reached the other side, Sæberýn merely shook the moisture out of her coat and trekked her way to the scent markers, tossing her head back, uttering a sharp commanding call.
Sæberýn was not to be ignored. Sæberýn demanded answers. And this pack would give her whatever they had, she was sure of it.
(left it vague as to whether or not Róa is with her!)
Oct 09, 2018 01:16 PM
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