Big Salmon Lake War paint

When a wolf skulked into view along the shore, Peregrine's hackles bristled immediately. But he almost instantly recognized Luke and he froze in mild surprise. It was eerily reminiscent of the way he and Lasher had happened into one another a few weeks back. He frowned at the thought, then deliberated over how to respond to Luke's presence out this way. He still bore no pack scent, therefore Luke was not a northerner, strictly speaking. For the moment, this information was much more pertinent than their brief history. No matter what, he was still an outsider, not to be trusted.

"Luke," he called out gruffly after a moment, striding nearer to the other wolf. His expression was stony, his voice and demeanor neutral bordering on unfriendly. Naturally, he recollected nothing of their shared intimacy that night when he had gone sleepwalking. As far as Peregrine knew, they had last seen each other in person back in April, with Luke later on paying a call at the borders, only to be turned away by Fox. That had been just after the incident.

"By the time you showed up, so much had changed," he found himself saying in a wooden but explanatory tone. He sat, body language still tense. "Where has life taken you these days?"