Lost Creek Hollow the milk is drying up

Donnelaith. It was smooth and pleasant to the ear. It suited the man before him, who had a velvet tongue and a way with words that no other had. Luke closed his eyes, allowing his lover's talented words to paint a picture in his mind of stately trees between which a swift creek snaked, and the great logs of those that no longer stood sheltering Lasher's own from nature's cruelest storms. He wished to see it, but knew it would be sometime before he could, and there in his breast was the impulsive spark to follow the earthen wolf home, to shift his residence in his want. But he could not; his new position as beta was another tether to the hollow and its wolves.

"I hope to see it sometime," he said warmly, but already his mind was moving away from the forest by the coast. He stepped away from Lasher, flicking his tail against the other wolf's cheek. A sly look was upon his face. "If you can catch me..." he whispered, "you can have me!" and he sprang away once more, a white flash of lightning as he started anew their game of chase, one he did not wish to go on long. Unspoken was his burning desire to be caught and pulled beneath his lover in a possessive, passionate embrace.