Hushed Willows We are never belated

They had stopped to rest within the forest of willows – the long sweeping branches obscuring them and easing Constantine’s worry. As much as they had to relocate from their old home – no longer just because Durnehviir longed for her birth place, but because of the sea marauders that had began to raid them on their way out – he worried for the safety of his pregnant mate during such an arduous travel across the mountains. Still, he knew they would be there soon, and once they arrived, he would see to it that Durnehviir found the old whelping den immediately – and the rest of them would begin marking their new borders and scouting their neighbours to ensure they were not as enclosed as they had been last time. If they came upon troublesome neighbours again.. Constantine knew he would try to move mountains to keep their new home, if only because it was what his mate desired.
 
For now, the swarthy wolf lumbered through the area, his eyes drifting back every so often to the mountain that was finally at their backs now. Had Durnehviir not been so intent on Swiftcurrent Creek, he would have suggested they remain here. It was a small haven – and thus far, he had not witnessed any dangers.
 
The snow blanketed the land gently – and only when a brusque wind swept by, stirring his guard hairs to lift, did the shadowrunner come upon the fresh scent of another. A frown marred his features then, and with his nose uplifted to catch the direction, he began to stalk toward the stranger he knew to not be far off.
 
He caught the sight of rust and tawny fur – long limbs. He studied the other intently for only a moment before uttering a low woof to gauge attention – his fiery eyes alight as they regarded the other openly.