Bearclaw Valley when i was young, i'd feed on it

She mentioned her sister once more, merely a faceless name to Phocion but seemingly everything to her. For a minute, he felt bereft. He had been the sole survivor of a litter born in midwinter, with his mother dying shortly afterward. He had never had a family to call his own. To see Indra so attached to this Laurel was both comforting and depressing, to him, at this moment.

"I've not met many others, either," he admitted, feeling slightly ashamed as he said so. He had always considered himself an ebullient wolf, someone everyone wanted to be friends with. Being alone in this Valley constantly weighed on him. "My tribe was very close-knit. We lived close together and rarely wandered, even when times were good. It's not like that, here."

Xan was omnipresent, but as a white shadow; Phocion caught glimpses of him here and there. And others, unknown to him, were nearby. But the wolves of the Valley were scattered, and until they made a conscious effort to unite, they would remain so.

"I'm glad I've met you, today, Indra," Phocion said with a warm smile, meaning it entirely.