Lost Creek Hollow The Warmth That Thaws a Soul

Things felt as though they were going swimmingly, up until the point where Mordecai felt the icy gaze of the coywolf meet his own. Perhaps Siku felt it necessary to make a point — something in which the alpha male could understand — but it wasn't a point that Mordecai hadn't heard before. He had heard it many times, perhaps even used the same rehashed in places himself. His initial response was mute; a thin curling of his scarred lip came about to reveal his teeth in warning. Though aware of the quivering of the much younger hybrid, it was a necessary response to such a bold move. It soured him instinctively, though it may have been better to say that Mordecai had long been soured by the repetitive dredging and structure of the borders and their fruits.

He veered from how Harlyn would have handled things, and how he once had handled them himself. Less open and welcoming, Mordecai plucked his words decisively at Siku's close. "You claim you're a scout, but what else can you do? I have scouts, hunters, and guardians too," and all of them to him were things they all were capable of doing. And of course he had his reservations beneath it all; after all, it had been a coyote the cougar followed and who was to say that they were not bred from the same stock?

As it were, he knew he had more to consider than whether or not such a creature would benefit them in the long run. There was confidence in the thought that their numbers would sustain them through the lengthy draw of winter and before too long, their numbers would bloom to nip at the delicate fingers of spring.