The Floodlands Steady feet, don't fail me now

It wasn't a resounding "yes!" but his casual confirmation drew a smile from Wildfire. She knew they were aging—they'd retired, after all—but neither one of them struck her as old. They were great godparents, even better parents, and she looked forward to the prospect of another generation of Blackthorns.

But if Quixote and Raven planned to have another litter, then Niamh and Colt did too (Wildfire was certainly assuming here, since they were hardly more than names at this point), then that put the Blackthorn patriarch and matriarch third in the running. The pack seemed strong, with plenty of able bodies, maybe even too many. Could they sustain three new litters? What happened if anyone else paired up in the meantime? Eljay wasn't the only single wolf of breeding age.

None of this was any of her business, she knew, but Wildfire worried at her lip before saying, "The reason I ask is because... the pack seems very large already and I'm worried that myself and the girls are placing more burden on an already crowded pack. It doesn't help that we have targets on our backs." She let out a breath, then explained, "My son threatened us. The last thing I want to do is bring war here. And I want to stay with you guys but..." She thought about her recent conversation with Kiwi, as well as her quiet aspirations to travel. Wildfire shrugged, not entirely sure where she was going with this, just that she wanted (maybe needed) to hash it out with someone she trusted and respected in equal measure.