The Sentinels hunger

NOTE: In Szymon’s personal timeline, this takes place before his hunting trip to Snowforest Taiga.

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The black-banded Cairn furrowed his brow, looking critically at his handiwork — it was to be a gift for Qilaq, who had spent more and more time away from her adoptive parents following the birth of Blackrock Depths’ first litter. He wasn’t particularly perturbed by this; in fact, he was pleased that his gray-eyed girl had grown so in courage as well as stature. At the heart of things, though, Szymon was a provider — and he looked at the world in relation to what the wolves who mattered to him saw. Furs and skins of any kind were immediately brought home for Doe, who alternately burrowed into them or chewed on them; skulls and antlers were equally shared between the witch doctor and the leviathan, for their fearsome presentation and use in rituals. And now, thanks to the sheepdog, he’d found a gift that suited his stargazing daughter.

A familiar howl drew the angler from his task, his narrow muzzle turning sharply toward Donnelaith as he rose, shook the sand from his salt-crusted fur, and snapped into a ground-eating lope. The borders were open between the packs now, but he still felt a sense of trepidation that showed in a flicker of his hackles as he crossed into the sanctuary of sequoias and threaded his way through unfamiliar territory until he was beside the green-eyed dryad. Deerscent, tinged with an overtone of infection, filled his senses. Bending his head to his brother’s Chosen One, he nuzzled gently at the corner of her jaw with a rumbling growl of fealty and took his place at her flank, falling easily into step with her and dropping back to run behind her as the swath of trees commanded. He did not know the territory well, and the fur of his shoulder brushed even with her hip as he wordlessly implored her to take the lead.

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