Emberwood We can live in a world that we design.

Her expression remained dark and guarded as Durnehviir finally dropped the subject. Yeesh. Talk about attachment issues. The mottled she-wolf's buttercream eyes followed the crimson wolf carefully as she began to walk away, and her ears lifted into sharper points when an offer was extended. Instantly suspicious, Wylla stayed where she was for a time and glared after her adversary's backside; what was she playing at?

Surely it was a trap, but with nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, she really didn't have much of a choice. She could return to the loner life, certainly, but she wouldn't succeed with her ego as badly bruised as it was. And if it turned out to be a trap like she suspected—if these wolves intended to hold her down and make her do their bidding as revenge for their miserable little copse on the coast—then she was wily and would find a way to escape.

She always found a way out. After a long moment she began to follow Durnehviir's scent back to where her band of wolves was gathered, where she was certain to meet the exaggerated judgment of her new "pack mates".