Swiftcurrent Creek grey eyes gleaming

Alarian had decided to go hunting early, hoping to bring breakfast to his conpanions. A lucky encounter had left him with a plump old fox already, but he decided to go to the creek to look for more.

A familiar scent came to him on the wind, then-- he turned his head and froze. A small figure in the grass, nothing spectacular, but that scent. He would know it anywhere. The boy approached slowly, carefully, not yet alerting the other to his presence.
It was only when he was close enough to see, to recognize, that he chuffed softly, then greeted her.
Lanawyn. Alarian's voice was soft, warm. He knew her without a doubt-- few wolves forget the scent of a littermate.