Swiftcurrent Creek Clairvoyence

Not used to impromptu touching, he found himself glancing at Tuwawi when she wasn't looking, each time their shoulders brushed or connected. It made him feel strange because it wasn't unpleasant and it didn't make him want to rip her slender little head off, which was a new sensation for the newly accepted wraith. Usually touching him elicited some sort of violence, but this was neither aggressive nor truly affectionate, so he found his mind wandering to yet-untouched ground, confused and interested all at once. Was this what it meant to be in a pack? To be fond of those around you even if they weren't your blood?

Haunter wouldn't know, because not only had his birth-pack hated him, but his family had as well. Kindness was a foreign concept to the aging male, one he was just only now beginning to understand.

He grunted as she told him how long she had been here, and then mentioned her mate, whose name he had heard from Fox when she had asked him to patrol. He wasn't quite social enough to offer any condolences or otherwise on her renewed relationship with Njal, but Haunter seemed engrossed with her story, his one ear held tall and attentive. He was trying to think of what to say, when the scent of deer came onto them stronger, fresher than before, and his silence became deeper as even his breaths quieted in a hunter's fashion.

There was no need for talk now. With a last, meaningful touch of their bodies, the two wolves instinctively parted for the hunt, eager to take tactfully opposite sides on the small herd and begin their breath-taking chase.