memories we all share

Theory nodded in understanding, curling around Motif until they were two dark halves of the same moon. Whereas Poem and Motif created the perfect yin-and-yang, they were both dark like Shaye. From a distance, an onlooker might even think they were seeing double. She laid her head on her paws and blew air out in an exasperated sigh. "Winterfell has made some... interesting choices. Acere won - or lost? - a bid. I think at the same market - " Theory caught herself and looked away. Motif surely didn't want to recall her time in captivity. "Anyway. He foolishly bid away his own pack's allegiance on behalf of what seems to be an acquaintance at best. He is compelled to raid on behalf of the Hjarrandi and will come knocking at our borders soon to attempt to collect some herbs and other valuables. He has promised me he will return everything twofold, but not once has he come to show his face. I only have the words of his diplomat." Theory frowned. If he had wanted her to take his word in good faith, she would have preferred to hear the words come from his own mouth. "With the raid coming soon, I don't know how to handle the aftermath. We will learn what we can from the skirmish itself, but could I ever trust him again? Trust Winterfell?"