Lake Rodney shapeshift conductor for your spark

Rannoch and Rian made their way across the lake and over to the unlikely twain — a wild-furred raven and a starsilver prince — and Cypress immediately moved forward to meet them. “Hey,” he added his voice to the mix, butting the bridge of his muzzle affectionately against the underside of first Rannoch’s, then Rian’s jaws. “This is Mato,” he intoned without preamble, turning his muzzle toward the grayscale youth, lantern yellow meeting apple green briefly as he quirked the rightmost corners of his mouth into a reassuring half-grin. “Mato, these are my brothers: Rian and Rannoch.” He nodded toward each wolf in turn, trusting that the eloquent young wolf could speak for himself, but tacked on a minor explanation just to lead the trio into conversation. “Mato is a naturalist,” he said, brow furrowing as he tried to remember if any of the other wolves who’d joined their ranks could boast such a title. “Do we know any naturalists? I wasn’t sure if maybe Rose was, since she knows about plants.”