Moonspear We're dreaming on and on.

Movement caught his eye and, briefly, the thinning wolf's obsidian ears pricked to catch the sound of padding paws on fresh snow. A dark figure emerged from the Wintry background and at once Talion exhaled a breathy whine and crouched lower in submission, ears slick once more against his nape. It did not matter to him that this raven-pelted yearling might not be the leader he'd requested, for he was clearly a member of the mountain's pack and the first on the scene to greet him. As a loner seeking a place, he was prepared to be shamed with its lowest rank should they not decide to run him from their territory.

As the sable guardian drew nearer, the young Roux-Abrhen bowed his muzzle and lowered his frosty eyes, chest hovering above the frozen earth beneath him. He knew he would drop into the snow and roll belly-up if the other required him to do so.

A question came, sharp and to the point, and Talion did not hesitate to respond: "I wish to join the pack."