Silvertip Mountain don't forget from whence you came

sure!

He smiled, dipping his head in acceptance. "It's settled," he rumbled, pressing his nose against Cortland's shoulder. Poet declared that she would stay up the night, and his eyes returned to her face, head tilted. "I keep to the night, too," Phocion said softly. He glanced at Cortland. "But I'll stay here with Cortland, at least until morning's light."

The small, ghostly wolf sat on his haunches, a sentry in the dark. His gaze wandered up the slope of the mountain, so vast and black before them, then back down, flitting to his companions. "Welcome home," he repeated, looking between the two of them. His face cracked in a grin. "Welcome to Silvertip Mountain."