Blackfeather Woods Do they always walk away from dead bodies?

Another arrived and his posture straightened, eyeing the now-trio as he waited to see what they intended to do—if they were to do anything at all, though it seemed as if they wouldn’t. Still, he did not allow for his own gaze to stray from the group, prepared, mentally, for anything. The words that spilled from the falconer’s mouth made him all the more alert, for a moment, her words taken the wrong way; he was not ready to lead his pack into another war, not so soon after the last, not when many had left and the woods housed a fresh brood. His focus remained on her up until he was addressed by another, the Inuk’s gaze then relocated to the other male. At the same time, atop his crown, ears turned at the sound of approaching steps, yet he did not offer his pack mate a glance nor greeting; drawing in a breath brought to him the familiar scent of his fellow northerner, which was all he needed to offer a flick of his tail in acknowledgement.

“This is our home,” he said, words directed at the tawny man. “We have had wolves born here, this is the only place they know. We have had wolves die here, and we cannot leave their souls or graves alone. We can’t leave.” Kove, especially, could not abandon the forest. He had sworn to protect it, to ensure Meldresi’s memory was never forgotten or dishonoured, and he would do so until the day he died.