Whitefish River old friends, sat on their park bench like bookends

The male didn't comment on his self-deprecation. Only Phocion knew what was best for himself, but Grayday had never disapproved of the male's decision to leave. Hopefully, he'd soon find the absolution he seemed to be seeking.

"It is," he replied with a dip of his head, glad for a more neutral topic. "After I had my first litter, my children and I ended up founding our own pack. This is Morningside."

Grayday's eyes were also drawn to the mountain, the graveyard. "Steady moved the pack to a valley to the east, and shortly after, died. Valette leads the pack, now. They call themselves Easthollow. It's thriving, and they are still good wolves," he explained, guessing that Phocion would be interested in this information. Easthollow was not always forgiving to deserters, but surely, after all this time, Phocion's departure would be water under the bridge. It'd been a different time, and every had been under vast and varying degrees of strain.