Lost Creek Hollow the older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune

cameo unless noticed!

the hollow did not feel settled to merrick; it felt tense, but in a different way than it had seemed in bearclaw. xan was scarce, laurel sharp, indra reserved as always. the boy sighed, pacing through the woodland. he had not met the other children in the pack, preferring to keep to himself these days. only nunataq could stir him from the little funk into which he had fallen.
today, a masculine howl for a man called mordecai cut through the territory, and merrick loped toward it. there was no one here by that name, no one the boy knew, anyway. sequestering himself in a nearby stand of trees, the young wolf watched the woman, treason, address the loner in her usual prickly manner. he had never known what to make of her; even now, merrick hoped she would not spot him.