She would not stray far from home just yet – not when she was keen on keeping close eye on her pack mates and their tendencies for the season. She had pushed the thought of her own intent as she strode along the Lowlands – any strange scent of another was enough to cause her slender form to switch paths in avoidance. At her age, she was not a stranger to the pull of spring – but unlike other years, she did not welcome it as she had when Maksim had stood at her side.


Pressing her nose gently to the ground, she could catch faded scents of other wolves, though she did not dwell upon it. She was familiar of the two other packs that lingered in the area, though knew little of the Monadnock pack, spare what Lachesis had offered her. Drestig and Jessie lead the Fields pack, and through them, she felt far more trust.


Lifting her muzzle once more, the honeyed woman cast a quick glance around the vast lands. All seemed quiet as the clouds rolled above the afternoon sky. The cold was still bitter, but soon the frost would melt, and the lands would replenish with greenery once more. She looked forward to it – and perhaps this was the first moment that Kisla realized she could actually move on.