Whitestone Monadnock Foolish consistency

Morganna was a wolf that tied herself to her family, to wolves rather than land, which was not something that Sahalie encountered every day. The connections between them all--Spieden, Skana, Elettra, Sven--existed meaningfully outside of and beyond the lowland tundra. It was a sentiment that resonated with the girl who had friends everywhere. The opposite of Sven, in fact--from everything he had ever said about the impossibility of leaving Willow Ridge or those that left. As always there was the back and forth: two kids of wolves that were either okay with leaving or vehemently against it. But she couldn't deny that it was a relief that the Whitestone Monandock leader would bear them no ill-will. "Thank you," she breathed.

How the woman had guessed at her intentions she had no idea. Maybe she had heared Alastor talking to Larkspur. Maybe she just knew. She wouldn't be the first one to make such a remark, as if her destiny had been written plainly on her face or if it were a color in her fur. Serach had known, too, though he'd been a lot less happy about it. At least now she knew how to answer him, even if making her own pack sounded like a cop-out or an excuse to his brutal question. There probably was no answer. "Hopefully it will be down south where I came from. But I'll let you know."

"Thank you, again. For everything."

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