Neverwinter Forest sharp practice

Scimitar, while tracing the borders and marking them every few days, managed to never be too far from the den it seemed – and it amazed him even now as he heard the tiny voice of Rannoch – who was now eight weeks in age. The boys were explorers – but they were well-mannered ones that usually requested their parents’ permission before trailing too far, and so the large wolf was quick to return a short, clipped howl, promising his boy he would be there momentarily.
 
Good on his word, only moments would pass before the Frostfur emerged from the evergreen foliage, his eyes sharp upon silver youth. “Rannoch,” he murmured quietly, his tail sweeping through the air with a content wag. He did not speak further, instead, his muzzle tipped slightly, awaiting the boy to tell him what was on his mind.