The Sentinels in the darkening of the year

Flaris, not unlike Cas, was neither a wolf of ritual or of sound religion. He believed in physical things— of affection and love and the duty that accompanied such feelings. He minded the spirit and treated souls with tender thoughts, but he had never worshiped anything, or believed too much that many things existed beyond the corporeal. Still, being a part of Donnelaith, he would respect their "traditions"; their wishes. And when asked to bring something, before at last being called as a pack to observe the pagan ritual, he obeyed without protest. It was not his position to judge, only to ensure their desires were achieved.

He arrived, tentative and slow, with an uneaten rabbit clutched loosely in his jaws. In his head there was no true significance for his choice of gift, but he was a decent hunter and thought that his most useful skill put to use was blessing and thanks enough to whatever spirit they honored that evening. He deposited the body at the altar, to rot there and be returned to the earth; to run forever in a realm none of them could see. Bobbing his head to Emaleth, at the helm, and then to Deirdre, he pressed himself backwards, giving them a soft girth so that he could sit back and listen.