Wardruna had finished her collection, she felt. At least, mostly felt. She could have really kept adding to it but felt herself procrastinating quite long enough. Her gut grumbled with a sour emptiness. Nerves getting the best of her as she looked to the gifts she had laid out at the mouth of her densite: a flower halo of a crown, made during the festivities of the new pack of the red meadows, feathers, particularly a vibrant red one from Elk Charm. She had found a few shells from the beaches south and a few smooth, black stones that glittered in tbe sunlight. She had a ram horn and caribou antler and salt and parsley seasoned fish meat from Journey.

Happiness was hard to come by since her father's death. It drove rifts between the family members. It caused unsettlement in the ranks. The pack's religion thrown to the wind. Their gods hidden in shame. It caused an unsettling silence in the land as its members disbursed and allies had been gone far too long. Now the lands themselves sought to destroy its very self in order to save itself, to purge wolves from this place to keep from unstable magic, and dangerous magic, getting into the wrong paws.

She knew she should be grateful for those she still had - and was! - because she knew there are those, many, which had come to these lands all alone, with no friends or family from their lives before. Worlds away. It was every day which Wardruna felt more and more grateful for Sheauga, who filled the empty spaces where family had once filled. Wardruna realized that now, together, they could make a family of their own, too. And they would, if only the Blackrock wolf would have her.

So Wardruna waited with every bit of patience she had for the little raccon woman to return to their den after her busy day's work was done.