«Across Salted Sea Foam»

Raziel watched with hardened and unyielding turquoise eyes as the ebony backed off with velvety coal ears flat against his skull. The Alpha was pleased that the loner knew his place; more often than not, the wolves who stopped by the borders were arrogant and pompous brats who thought that the world revolved around them and that all should kneel and kiss their paws. Silently, he thanked the gods above that not all of the wolves had forgotten what rank they acquired when they became a lone wolf, because if that had happened, the Valley would be empty of its members.

The loner spoke softly; the Roman's ears flicked forward to catch his voice. The ebony said that he had came far west of here, a place that once bore a pack but that a storm had hit and soon after that, a tornado. A tornado. The same thing that had hit Teekon Wilds, and caused the Valley to flood. He kept that to himself, however, and stared at the man stoically and silently, having filtered out the meaningless crap that wouldn't benefit the pack or the loner for that matter, in anyway.

"What are your strengths? Your skills? What do you excel at? What are your weaknesses? Why should we take you in," Raziel fired a barrage of questions at the loner. Times were different. Kove may have accepted the guy with open arms and told him that if he swore his 'loyalty' he would be in; Raziel would not be so soft. He wasn't the Inuit — no, Romans were made of stronger stuff.