Hideaway Strath looking for you

"Yeah, sounds like Flóki alright," Charon said with a sigh that was bittersweet at the memories of his brother. "Always looking out for others." He was a great friend, always wanted to help one another, but he was always ready to help his pack, family and friends, too. Charon loved his brother above anyone else; well, until the day his daughters were born, anyway. Flóki was special, and he would never leave. Unfortunately, it looked like the snow was erasing whatever tracks or scents he might've left behind right now.

From the frozen trees he saw another wolf emerge, and his ears perked up to inspect. His hackles prickled defensively, but he soon realised that it was a young wolf and he didn't carry himself dominantly, which soothed him a bit.

Charon didn't remember ever meeting anyone named Stark so he was quick to say, his tone not unkind but neither warm, "I don't know anyone by that name or appearance." Well, he knew plenty of black wolves with blue eyes — three of 'em, as a matter of fact — but none of them called Stark.

Then he tacked on, "Have you seen a gray wolf with sand-coloured legs called Flóki, Beta of the Moonspear pack? He was out scouting this way but —" Charon's eyes fell on the wolf's feet and his gaze lingered there for a while. He didn't even want to look, but it was like his eyes were glued; he just couldn't look away.