Every little bit counts

Since their arrival at Stavanger Bay, Verrine had almost obsessively patrolled the outlands of their territory, strengthening marks (a.k.a. pissing everywhere lol) and otherwise doing everything necessary to make it obvious that there were wolves here, and any not of their group were unwelcome. In a rare break from his usual routine, though, he was spending today in the interior of their new home, getting to know the lay of the land, learning where some commonly-traveled game trails were, and (though he wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself) daydreaming about Julooke and floating on the euphoric high in the wake of their newly-established mateship.

He was abruptly jerked out of his amorous reverie by the sound of a small commotion nearby. Suddenly realizing he wasn't far from the Alphas' den, he looked around and spied a young warrior carefully harassing a caterpillar on the ground. A wide grin broke over his face as he recognized young Gunnar, one of Ragnar's little hellions. Tail wagging, he woofed a soft greeting to the boy. "Hey there, Guns!"