where we got left to run

Scimitar was about to catch his wife in a favourable mood.

She could not imagine turning a healthy child away, although she would - eventually, after biting off his face - have understood her mate's reticence. She wasn't the most predictable wolf, and having pups of her own hadn't done much to improve the situation.

She left her spawn in the care of packmates, leaving the rendezvous site at speed. The road to Scimitar was a downhill run, so fast that she could have been mistaken for a run-away avalance.

When she reached them - he wasn't alone - she was gasping for breath and flushed beneath her dense coat. Bright eyes crossed from Scimitar's face to the child that accompanied him. A boy - young, her own childrens' age, clothed in silver and gold. Bazi stared, confused. "What's this?" she asked rather than demanded, still breathing hard.