Some time ago, I had come to the borders once more. They had, at that time, lacked the distinct scent of the dark girl; now, however, her scent has returned to the outer regions of the marshes. They are different this time, however, with a distinct difference: it is one I know well, for it lingers still on my own mother. I cannot say that it does not surprise me - it certainly does. I did not expect a wolf like her to fall to the charms of any male. It makes me curious, nonetheless, and I must respect that she has indeed done so. For that, I had taken to the fields in search of a token; a limp hare within my jaws, its tawny body still warm and musky as I stepped over the borders.
Perhaps this is considered intruding but I can assure them all that I have only earnest intentions. I had come initially to call for her at the borders and yet, now I am not so sure she is in such a condition to be back and forth. Rather, I shall go to her; I am sure to keep my posture low and quiet, subduing my own dominance in order to provide comfort to any that might see me. I am just as quiet when it comes to follow her trail into the marshes, my steps avoiding the treacherous waters as the summer sun struggles to break through the early morning mists. It takes me some time to navigate to where I assume her den is; it is here that her scent is strongest, as is the scent of motherhood.
I let out a gruff bark of greeting before I approach, tossing the limp hare towards the den's mouth. I back away then, leaving space between her home and myself to allow her that comfort. I do not know what to say to her. I do not know what to do. To bring her such an offering only seems natural, however, for I would not enjoy seeing another strong wolf weaken beneath the strain of motherhood.