Whitewater Gorge gerald's game

HMMMM

Skirting Porcupine Ridge, Warbone explored to gain some bearings of the area in which he wished the settle. It was a crowd of packs in the proximity, but the territories he eyed were rather closed off and unobtrusive to the other packs. His fresh impulse had been born both of his time spent in Sleeping Dragon, and the reminder of his capacity to care, the latter of which he had achieved in the company of the injured Grotto alpha. It was his desire to care and protect others, but he could not follow a mind he did not trust as explicitly as his own. Respect, perhaps, but not obey. He found that he had not missed the solitary life. He wanted a reprieve—  asylum— from this harsh theme of survival. And he wanted to do it in the company of those he cared about; those who needed him. Though absent of a bleeding heart, the social wiles of wolves had been breathed into him, bringing to life a brooding want to nest.

Ahead he spotted two females, one a deep orange like a dying sun, and the other pale and marred, by black swathes and scars. The latter's belly was taut, and her scent carried with it the tendrils of pregnancy— and he wondered what she was doing from the lands she still smelled faintly of. He approached very slowly, ears up and interested, tail low and neutral, as he loosed a small bark for their attention.