Wapun Meadow and the violence caused such silence

It was kind of them to let him stay, but Kingfisher was not a wolf who sought kindness. Kindness to complete strangers was against the way of things. Kingfisher should have been made to earn his position as Sigma of Ookaan. The title held no significance if he had done nothing to deserve it, and so he could muster very little pride in having been given the rank. He could stir no feelings of loyalty to the pack or to the place, the sprawling meadow that Ookaan called home, and so he spent little time within its boundaries.

Today, however, an unusually heavy thunderstorm had swept through in the morning, and now although the rain was only a fine mist, the surrounding lands were soggy and unpleasant to traverse. Kingfisher had made the decision to sleep the long afternoon hours away, but rest was elusive. He shuffled this way and that in his cramped but relatively dry den to no avail, and late afternoon found the silvered male striding through Wapun Meadow, reluctantly becoming a bit more familiar with Ookaan's chosen territory.

His emerald eyes took in the tall grass that bowed down with the weight of clinging raindrops, but rainy fields were everywhere and he found nothing very special about this one. The afternoon had warmed up and was now both hot and moist, and so the air was thick and muggy, and he was beginning to regret even this excursion. As he was ready to turn back to his den, the tawny form of another wolf caught his eye. The DeMonte wolf hesitated for a moment, standing indecisively several paces away from the stranger, an overly-thin female. He didn't feel sociable enough to initiate conversation on his own, but he decided to wait for a moment to see if she acknowledged him, or if he could continue unharried on his way.