Remaining quiet for most of their excursion, Clara offers smiles and thanks to those who bless her. Complete strangers treating her as one of their own. Although she had never seen battles between the packs, she'd seen paintings and heard stories. Even her father had a portrait hung proudly in his office, his wolf towering enemies ferociously. Covered snout to tail in blood, surrounded by the trees Clara now recognised as Black oak territory. It amazed her to see such undeserved kindness from another pack, when less than two decades ago, leaving your own region risked death. Whenever someone blessed her mating bond to Atticus, the portrait of Tobias' allegedly glory burns in her mind.
Taking a seat on eroding wooden bench, the dried long grass tickles at the calves of the she wolf's legs.
