Porcupine Ridge The hills of Hollywood on fire

He allowed Diane to lull him into a sense of security, and soon the flutter of his eyes was not due to pain, but relaxation. He was ordinarily an affectionate wolf and his pack mates were no strangers to his touch, but it had been a long while since someone had doted on him like Diane. The male knew it was only due to his injury, but a slight warmth pooled in his stomach nonetheless, like a tiny fire signalling friend. Though he was the beta of the ridge pack, the tawny wolf didn't have many true friends on account of his speechlessness. It was possible, even likely, that Diane did not share the same connection, but he felt at ease for once.

Alas, all things ended and soon enough she was nosing behind his ear. His eyes popped open and immediately he squinted against an onslaught of light. Only then did he become aware that Diane had settled herself to relax as well. His lips turned upward into a slight smile at the thought that she could relax; she had, after all, been a skittish thing the first time he'd met her, and again he found himself thinking, insofar as he could think about things, how alarming the change was. Alarming, yes, but in a good way.

He lifted himself in response to her purling growl and he understood, even before she gestured helpfully, that it was time to get back to work. He scarcely spared a second glance at the fallen coyotes as he drifted past them and disappeared along the borders with Diane. Burying the dead was not a natural thing as far as he knew, and the thought never occurred to him.