scars

He could have easily replied no and left it that. Surely his pack mate would not pry any further. However, Wicked felt compelled to answer honestly. "Yes. It was my birth pack." He knew he should seem horrified about such a tragedy striking his family but he couldn't and wouldn't pretend like he was sad about it, even if he didn't admit outright his actual involvement. "They treated me poorly and they got what they deserved," Wicked said in a low, almost sinister voice.

They continued to talk of the spine, now the spire. The Gamma quickly informed the pale yearling that the pups hadn't been born at the time, meaning that Tonravik had gone through the entire event not only pregnant but close to term. He made a thoughtful noise in response to the darker male's comment. They'd had four strong sons by the sound of it, which was more than enough. Never had he seen a litter larger than six and half would usually die within the first several weeks.

That probably meant the Alphas' young were not out of the woods yet, though they had been through quite a lot already (if in utero) and Wicked knew the parents would do everything they could to guarantee the success of their brood. In his indirect way, Wicked would contribute, by feeding their mother and guarding the borders in her stead. He didn't mind that, as long as he didn't have to babysit them directly.

"Iqniq says they had four boys," the young Epsilon reported what he knew with a roll of his shoulder. He paused to hike a leg, following his superior's example. Not only would it deter outsiders, it would add his scent to the rest of the packs', strengthening their claim and presence. "He didn't mention any health concerns. I would think their mother would be the most affected but he didn't mention any issues with her either. I know you're all a tough breed." It didn't take long to figure that out about the Sawtooth wolves.