Moonspear tŷ, nid cartref

It is increasingly clear to him, even if the rebellion in Mynydd had proven otherwise, that there is safety in numbers. Why else would wolves band together for reasons other than family? Loyalty plays a key part in this decision-making, too, but it is the primal need for safety that drives many to shelter within their own kind. Having a place to call one's own, a group to bond with, is not only a want but a need for wolves, who are, at the end of the day, social creatures.

Llewellyn is a proud man, but not proud enough to keep away from the edge of borders forever. He knows he needs somewhere to stay, safe from the clutches of Ioan and his gang of traitors. Alone, they would slaughter him, but in the mountains, behind pack lines? They knew not this land; they would not touch him, here. He does not wish to bring chaos to any pack, only to rest and to strengthen his skills--to provide whatever service a pack needed, whether that be hunting, fighting; at this point, he would babysit.

The golden wolf stops just behind the border, staring up at the mountain before him. It is a mystical place, fit for a prince, and he cannot help but to smile as he beholds what could become his new home. No. . .not a home. A house, but not a home. There was a difference between the two, and Llewellyn had a difficult time imagining anything besides Mynydd being home for him. Perhaps, with time, this place would become so. But he had to get in, first.

Taking a steadying breath, Llewellyn howls for the relevant parties, his melodious voice ringing across the alpine sky. He prepares his speech silently in his head, thinking of what best to say, standing at the border in a posture that suggested both submission and confidence.