The Sentinels she learned how to smile with blood in her mouth

He sought the trade of mercenary – after his time with Siku and her wolves, the swarthy male had taken to the more fine craft of battle and only wished to hone it further. His father was a peaceful man, and one who was taken to the realm of magics. His mother had been a healer, as was his sister. Perhaps he remained an outlier to his family – and yet to maintain a rounded pack, he sought to grow his skill set further – if they ever required a tactician or a warrior, at least he could rise to the task with confidence.
 
He was untried, yet. But he was also young and able.
 
His form was thinning – hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he attempted to ignore it. There was not even the taste of a berry to help ease the discomfort, but what little food the pack had managed to catch was primarily fed to the girls – and then to themselves, so they might just barely fuel their energy.
 
Fatigued from hunger, the man’s ears cupped forward at the nearby howl, and while his eyes glinted with the temptation to ignore it, Constantine knew he would never be at ease if he had. Traipsing forward, his eyes falling upon the tawny figure of a she-wolf, he tipped his muzzle slightly, gaze unwavering as he studied her gently. “Welcome,” was all he said initiated – the Donnelaith pack was a far cry from the culture of Tartok, where a stranger during such times very well could have been met with fangs – the intent to feed the stranger to their young to aide their survival.