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Moorglow had many homes. Deep in the Swamp, on the sandy beach, on the fringes of the wide and open plains; subject to bouts of wanderlust, the doe never remained in one place for very long. Thus, she had secured herself a great number of wallows and hidey-holes, stuffed hidden caches of supplies here and there so that she always had something to return to.

Uncharacteristically reminiscent, Moorglow wasn't really paying attention to where her hooves were taking her. Her thoughts raced back to the Tidewalkers, to where her allegiance lie. Leader of them all was Bitterleaf. Her mother. It was mostly for that precise reason that Moorglow stayed away for as long as she could. The pressure that went hand-in-hand with being Bitterleaf's daughter was... at most times, too much to bear.

The doe's ears twitched suddenly, straining to pick up the sounds of something close by. Moorglow slowed, but not entirely halted, scrutinizing her immediate surroundings in an attempt to glean who was close- if not what.

What else would call out but another kin? Moorglow was not surprised. The Tidewalkers were anything but lax in patrolling their territory; her mother fiercely protected what had been hard-won. She did not blame the mare, nor the herd for keeping safe what was theirs. With a head full of well-placed senses, Moorglow was quick to respond to the voice which called it. If it was a Tidewalker patrol, it would not be in her best interests to delay in identifying herself.

"I mean no harm," came the sure and calm response. The very obviously Tidewalker-descended doe stepped forward with confidence. She failed to recognize the buck, but why would he be on Tidewalker territory if he was not one of the herd?