Silvertip Mountain Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.

Dad began to walk with him, and he admitted that all he had been doing was border patrol. “Dad,” Mason giggled affectionately, “you need to getta girlfriend.” He knew the gist of mateship through discussions with Dad about the Redhawk Caldera alphas and their brood, and how he had  got together with Raissa. Although he could tell FitzDutiful didn’t feel overly comfortable discussing his ex-mate, he was always willing to answer any question Masona had about his past mother. Thanks to this, Mason didn’t feel that is was shameful to have an absent mother, and he didn’t really feel her loss. Perhaps June would feel it more as she got older, because she was a girl, but there were a few female pack members who could answer her womanly queries.

The slip of a lad then turned his mind to the question at hand, thinking carefully over what his Dad had taught him about border patrols. Honestly, though he loved to range his homeland, Mason wasn’t overly enthusiastic about border patrols. He used the time to review the landscape, find hidey holes, and attempt to find some of the herbs Dad had described to him. “Erm…” he faltered, feeling a bit ashamed, because his mind was at a blank. Like an exam, he felt the need to say something rather than nothing, and supplied: “check there’s no scents of other packs…?” He looked at his Dad for help, hoping for a bit of prompting as they traversed the lands.