Well, the fen had been shit.

Namir felt like she’d been cold for days following, like the dirty water had crept into her very core and made a home there.  Made her heavy, filled up hollow bones and made it impossible to fly away.  To fly back home.  Idly, she wondered if she could still call Crow’s Crossing home.  How long would she be welcome?  How long before Orin’s other children saw fit to chase her out with gnashing teeth and sharp names?

The girl snorted softly, continuing her jog further north.  All she wanted to do was find somewhere warm – and in the absence of dinkum sunshine, she’d accept shelter.  Anything to keep her out of the snow that insisted on falling, on her back, on her face, on her heckin’ snout.

A frozen nose wasn’t going to find her any food – and hell, was she ever hungry.  Her stomach gurgled loudly as if to make the point and Namir grumbled softly, increasing her pace as she blindly marched through the forest, head down, eyes all but shut--  And marched right into the large form of another wolf.  The youth squalled, backpedaling as her ears plastered against her narrow skull.  “Watch it, jerk!” she snapped, fur bristling as she waiting for the inevitable assault.

Oh, this one was nasty. Mean.

It reminded Little Crow of her father’s other children, in a way. They were not her siblings, half or otherwise. They were Orin’s heirs, and the future of Crow’s Crossing – she was simply a tool to be used. If they felt like being unkind to her, they were not scolded, not in the way Ori was for pulling on Orisa’s tail. The dusty female ground her molars, tail slowly hugging her hocks as she lowered her head, making it all the more difficult to latch onto her jugular if the stranger had the notion to.

No one had ever tried to kill her outright, but her father made sure she knew what that was. What it meant, how permanent it was. (What was going to happen to her mother). A dead runner wasn’t very useful, after all.

“Nah!” she hissed, weaving back and forth on her front limbs. Her claws dug into the fallen fern frons beneath her toes. Shit. Shit. “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. Lookin’ for dinner.” Like any normal wolf, obviously. That she might not have been looking where she’d been going was certainly not her fault – if she were to admit to the crime, that meant she committed it. Deny, deny, deny! He couldn’t pin anything on her if she didn’t own up to it! “Y’all weren’t usin’ yer damn eyes. Heck.”

“Duh.”

Namir gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Anyone knew you didn’t eat other wolves. That was gross – but maybe more importantly, it was one of the very few things that was wrong. There were rules, but then there were…there were… Well, Little Crow didn’t know a word for something that was bigger than a rule, but she knew that particular thing most certainly fell into that category. And her mind might have rambled on in that general direction, had the other yearling not spoken back up.

The dusty female paused, ears straight out to the side as she eyed the other loner warily. He certainly hadn’t been winsome moments before. Why did he suddenly care to be nice now? Her tail gave an exaggerated flick before she opened her mouth. “Lil’ Crow,” she drawled, tail flicking again. It was truth as much as it wasn’t, heck. She almost preferred it to the name her mother had given her. And speaking of her mother… “‘m lookin’ fer a Namid. ‘er a Kaa-geee-kah. ‘er a Des,” she huffed, well aware it was a long shot. But shit, if someone didn’t point her in the right direction soon, she was gonna turn around and head back home.

The name would make more sense if Mathuin understood the pack she came from – or even the name of the place. But he didn’t say anything, so she didn’t offer it up, and kept the name her mother chose for her safely tucked away. Until she figured out who Namid was, who this wolf her mother liked so much that she was named for her, that she was left for her was, she wasn’t keen on parading the name around like some sort of stupid title. That’s all names really were in the end.

Shit, the other wolves could call her ‘Orin’s Fake Daughter’ or ‘Thief’ and she’d still know who they were talking about.

“Well, shit,” she sighed softly, ears drooping a bit as she was given the unwelcome information. Maybe some small part of her was relieved she didn’t have to face those wolves yet, but she’d have to, eventually. That the forest was ‘very big’ probably wouldn’t play into her favor. She glanced back up at Mathuin. “What about a…” What did her mother whisper? “Fallen Tree Cove? Nah, that doesn’t make sense. Fallen Tree Cave maybe? Ever heard of that?”

It was a long shot, but a direction was better than nothing.