Swiftcurrent Creek when i first met tom mccannon, i was working in the mines

thorn's song did not go unheeded. from across the creek a pale figure emerged, carrying herself in a confident, assertive manner. the brute dropped his posture, his head held carefully lower than hers. from her frame alone, he assumed her to be the alpha -- and likely, had come to chase him from her borders.

instead, she stopped -- thorn allowed himself a brief moment to discretely study her. she was his near opposite in build and fur color, sporting a thick fluffy pelt and silver-moon eyes that settled on him with a hint of annoyance. her question caused his brow to furrow -- for was it not obvious why he was here? his kind was known to disperse from their packs in early winter to locate a mate -- and males often traveled many miles to find a suitable partner to court. by late spring their bonds would be deeply secured, and by early summer they often had their whelps take their first steps outside of the den.

he kept his gaze slanted to the ground, his posture submissive. "a mate." he answered transparently, wondering if he ought to be prepared to run.