Golden Glade Territorial Pissings (All of Your Base are Belong to Us)

omg so late. sorry

Dagfinn had remained quiet during their trip to these lands. He was uncomfortably close to Arthendal, but that wasn't the problem. Truthfully, he didn't have a problem. War came naturally to him, and although silence usually didn't, the dark youth had been trained well enough to be quiet on the way to the battlefield. White plumes of vapor betrayed how easily he breathed, despite the tense atmosphere. Deep breaths, long and steady, in and out. Dag trotted after his leaders, intent on serving them, protecting them.

The liver girl, though. She was the one that held his attention.

"Stay close to me," he said, his voice soft and low so that no others would hear. These words - an invitation more than command or request - were meant only for her. He didn't know why he offered this. There was something very fundamentally different about them, and a part of Dagfinn shied away from that yawning gap of understanding.

How different their stories must be.

Luckily, there wasn't long to dwell on this. Dag readied himself for battle as the voices of strangers sounded around them, his eyes taking in the stances of all the wolves around him, but his body angled to shield Laurel from violence.