Silverlight Terrace And the wolf whispers back, 'I am the storm.'

Appologies for the late reply! I will be busy the rest of this week, but after that, I should be pretty cleared up! <3

The large king padded through the meadow, his broad shoulders rolling as he walked. His wound was beginning to scab over, and he knew it would leave a very large scar. Thuringwethil had got him good, and had tore a good hunk of flesh and muscle from his already damaged shoulder. It had mostly closed, leaving only a few small spots of pink, inflamed flesh. The fur around it was ragged and crusty with dried blood, as the wound had never seemed to stop bleeding until it began to scab. 

Large ears pricked as the immense creature heard the screeching cries of a raccoon. A raccoon? He lowered his head to the ground, searching around for a scent trail. His tail raised as he finally found a trail. Instead of a raccoon trail however, he had stumbled upon the scent of a wolf -- or two. He followed it on silent paws, despite his size, and soon found them feasting on a dead raccoon. That must have been why the masked creature had called out. The brute's stomach rumbled, but he had no intention of stealing away their well earned meal.

One wolf was white, and obviously feminine. The other was a female too,  just reaching the brink of adulthood. Her pale fur was still downy, but she was almost at her full height. He guessed she had just turned one. He flashed them a warm smile as he approached, tail wagging to show off his friendliness. "Hey there," he rumbled, eyes warm and soft.