Otatso Wetlands When I get low I prefer the cold

There. Good. He’d slapped some sense into her, causing the girl to flee from him, from her dazed, slow-moving actions. The silver-caped “hero” snorted, satisfied by this outcome. She would be a better wolf because of his firm paw, he was sure of it.

Proud of himself for helping, Qeorvik kicked snow over the place she had stood, as if erasing the odd encounter from existence, and he turned to lope westward.