Shadewood come in from the cold

He would commit Spring’s name to memory. She seemed pleasant enough, and she had at least tried to converse with the scarred male, when she could’ve just gone on her way. It had been too long, Cailean realised, since he had had a pleasant conversation with another wolf. His small talk skills were beyond rusty, but he appreciated the fact that Spring had taken the time to speak with him.

His ears splayed, flat turquoise eyes taking on a new level of intensity as the agouti female made what sounded an awful lot like an offer. A place in a pack – a home? It was something Cailean had scarcely dared to hope for over months of solitary travel.

“Silver Creek,” he echoed, making sure that the pack’s name, as well as the female’s, would rest in his memory. It helped to say things out loud when they might be of use later. His head tilted, and one ear flicked away a fleck of snow. The pursuits Spring had named were things Cailean could do – border marking and healing moreso than fighting. He had gained his scars more through being a doormat than through any particular skill in war. But he could defend – he would defend – what mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, offering a half smile which lit his eyes. “I’ll be sure to think on that. Where might I find you, from here?”