Ankyra Sound the internet is more than just good porn now.

*tosses kja in here b/c fam~*

Kjalarr patrolled the borders, dutifully, though he wondered if the constant hunger that plagued him and the waning of strength, precious as it was, he would be of any use if any wolves crossed the border. He was thinner than he'd been two weeks ago — they all were — and the lack of food was little more than depressing. Food, if he survived this, if they survived this was not something he would ever take for granted every again, he vowed. His children and grandchildren would hear of the famine of the Gods and they, too, would not take their luxuries for granted. It was true that you didn't know what you had until it was taken from you. Still, he patrolled and ate what scraps of woodland creatures he was able to catch — though they were just as thin and ragged as the wolves that hunted them; the worst part that not every hunt was successful and it could be all night or day before he stumbled across something else to hunt. Kjalarr was trying his best to temper his growing irritation, borne of his neverending hunger.

Just because they were slowly starving didn't mean his duties to Saltwinter changed or relented. He did what he could and tried to push his boundaries so that he knew where they were. There was no better to test them while they were already being tested by the Fates. Subconsciously, he'd been following Caiaphas' trail when he picked up on it and arrived on the scene only to catch the coywolf queen's last word to the familiar figure. Sight alone was hardly enough to tell Kjalarr anything, but scent told him that the gray blur near their borders was familiar. And family. “Whittier?” Kjalarr called out to his (adopted) brother, unable to remember the last time he'd seen Whit. They'd both still been fairly young, if memory served correct. For the sake of not being redundant in case Caiaphas had more or less asked it, he did not inquire as to what Whittier was doing there, confident that the young Frostfur would tell them soon enough. For the moment his sour (hella grumpy?) disposition and hunger was momentarily forgotten in the anticipation and joy of Whittier's presence.