Betula paused as the sounds of combat rang hellishly loud. She retrieved a clump of fur from a waist-high snapped branch, the end hanging from a strip of bark like a broken arm. The fur was wiry and harsh between her fingers, and she put it away in the hidden pouches she kept her things in.

Should she go forward? For a long moment she hesitated. The wolves weren't their immediate concern, but knowing what they might be fighting... if they had a split in their group, or the Pale Night cultists had managed to summon unholy things, or what?

She reached out and plucked a leaf, crushing it in her hand, and let the breeze carry away the fragments. She breathed out, and quietly as possible, she ghosted forwards, slowly and surely, until she could just see the wolves' combat - or she considered it unsafe to go further.