Meadowlark Prairie In the number of times I punched with my fist

Witnessing the younger boy jump back in response to his initial reaction, Xan couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. A grin found its way onto his face, but it lived a short life as it was replaced but a faint frown. The corners of his lips were turned down ever so slightly, easily able to go unnoticed if one didn’t pay close enough attention. The response had been muttered, rather than spoken loudly. He didn’t know what to make of the boy just yet, whether his original views on his existence would alter or not. Then there came another response, informing the albino that his assumption had been incorrect. For no reason, huh? A part of him wanted to call him out for lying, but those thoughts died away quickly. Leo was the “good boy”, the one everyone preferred to be around. For him to do something severe enough to be attacked and left in his current condition was unfathomable. It just couldn’t happen. “Who would do that?” he asked, wondering, briefly, who in their right mind would have the desire to damage the child in such a way. It was supposed to be wolves like Alexander who were treated in that manner, not those who could do no harm. Not those like the child he’d despised for such a long time.
 
Xan listened as he was told about what had happened. A random wolf had attacked him, apparently. Most likely a loon, the Inuit decided. To attack a kid for any reason was wrong, but to do it for no reason at all… well, that was downright certifiable. Perking his ears up at the mention of a broken paw, he found his eyes being drawn towards it. The foot looked mangled, completely unusable unless someone held the desire to be physically tortured just by walking. “Looks like it hurts,” he commented, examining the injury for a few extra seconds, then looking back to the younger’s face. “You need someone to fix that.” An adult, maybe. He didn’t know of anyone who could help, aside from Meldresi, but he wasn’t yet ready to see the woman. Besides, Leo wasn’t apart of Blackfeather, so he wasn’t allowed within their borders.
 
The ghostly whelp’s eyes narrowed in on Leo at the mention of the woods, suspicion easily seen in his gaze. “You lived in Blackfeather?” he questioned, disbelief practically dripping from his words. “How were you in Blackfeather? You’re nothing like anyone I’ve met there.” Though he’d mostly been met with kindness thus far, there was a vibe surrounding the woods and its inhabitants that he just didn’t feel when around the sandy wolf. Then again, his statement of liking the valley better revealed it all. He wasn’t meant for the dark, is all. There came the question soon after. The same query he’d been hoping wouldn’t be asked. “Because they’re traitors,” he announced, ice seeping into his tone. For once, his irritation was not directed at his adopted brother Leo, but was for none other than the members of his blood family. “Mother thinks Raziel is dead, so she said she was leaving Bearclaw. We were all left to choose who we’d go with, and I chose my dad. Everyone else—Desna, Sesi, and even Nanook—chose that woman.” Beneath all the anger in his voice, there lived the hurt he kept hidden away. They’d left without so much as a glance backwards. They weren’t nice wolves.