Wapun Meadow Running away will never make you free

Zoratto did not find any flower strong enough to defend itself. He could easily crush all of these plants with one paw if he could. The young Dotharan wondered what an Asaverak or one of the Khaleens would make of such a sign. Perhaps it meant this land was weak and ripe for the taking. Perhaps, but Zoratto was no seer.

His contemplations ended with a sharp bark from an unknown voice. The red-masked wolf turned his head towards the sound, only to see a golden wolf approaching. He looked every part a khal, unlike Rhanno. The golden warrior was heavily muscled and heavily scarred, and taller than the lanky Rakh. When he spoke, Zoratto confirmed his suspicions; this was indeed a Dotharan. Thric. He admitted to the golden warrior. Si ossalur mrith vin juanth sthyr, Rhanno. Si mi jacida bacri. He growled the last sentence; he hated having to admit that to the Dotharan warrior but he had no reason to lie to the man. Rhanno would have told him anyway. Yth jahen wiilirkir dout gazziz, gewjtokvi