It's almost 3 AM, if such words meant anything to Mir. Somehow, moving between the Brim and the Highlands, she didn't think anyone else would be up this late. She's recently slept, but thoughts disturbed her to keep moving. Her experiments keep her busy. A fox's leg she's broken being given bits of cave lichen-- she's noticing it seems to thrive. Perhaps these mushrooms need a higher dosage to be lethal, but the illness it seems to have come down with is passing. Interesting.

But she does need to return home. Being gone on the Brim for days at a time-- she's sure people will start to notice. Let them. Honestly, she's a yearling, she should have more freedom. Childhood is behind her. If her mother wants her to be a good daughter... Well, she was a good daughter for that half a year of torture in Northfall, staying put even while her mother left multiple times and just. Left her there. Expected her to stay put and smile and socialize. And where did that get her? Did anyone ever acknowledge that she was trying her best? She's done trying to impress people for little outcome and praise. No, she's found a genuine interest, and she wants to cultivate it.

Harper should be happy for her.

And as the mists part, the sign of another wolf awake, she almost wonders for a moment if it is Harper, come to finally apologize for making her stay in that awful place and never tell her how strong she is for enduring it. But no. It's a different dark-coated wolf, more svelte in comparison to the large Bacchus woman. One of her cousins.

"Sreda."

She supposes she shouldn't be surprised. Sreda's the type to like the night. Mir gives her a cool gaze, consideration.

"Ночь еще молода. Выходим? (The night is young. Heading out?)"