Silvertip Mountain Trespass

His eyes were diverted even while her imploring gaze remained steadily upon him. He did not waste her time. Good. This was a wolf Tonravik could appreciate. There were so very few of those! He did not waste his breath, either, only saying what he felt was necessary for her to hear. He left few things to be desired, but he was vague. Still, that could be considered appropriate; she, too, could be vague.

She wondered who it was. Tuwawi? Aguta? For those were the two women within her ranks. She could not think back to the seconds where he seemed to recognize her—that would have been answer enough, for Aguta was as dark as she—even though she was keen to minute details. So instead, Tonravik could offer him his way to hunt with her, the mystery woman he spoke of. She would have to speak with whoever it was on being more discreet in their return home; Tonravik was typically not interested in many knowing of she and hers location. Let them smell the borders, and then let them depart. Tartok was a pack that clung to its secrets and its aptitude at discretion. Still, Aguta also did not know that she had returned. There was little fault in that.

We hunt with our family, she speaks at last, And our family is our pack. They could not waste their meat upon a wolf who had no intent to join them, surely he could understand that? Outsiders were never welcome. Still, there was a chance he could be welcomed into the fold, should he so desire it. She was poignant in her choice of words, and she looked to him, audits twitching and nostrils flaring. Who do you run with?