Blackfeather Woods Let my mind be your freedom

Slade.

The name was one that he hadn’t heard in years now, the male having vanished long ago; Kove had assumed him to be dead, either by natural causes or, more likely, a vengeful follower of the Brotherhood. But his assumptions had been incorrect, it appeared, for he’d managed to take under his wing a young female. Whether or not he lived still, he did not ask, and merely settled with saying, “Then you were trained well, I’m sure.” Although the man had betrayed the woods by abandoning them, the northerner was not so quick to pass judgement; there were often factors that drove a wolf to leave, and who was he, or anyone, to question the importance of those same components? He had never known Slade’s history, had never known of his family or former affairs—so why condemn him for something that very well could have been far from his control? How likely that was—perhaps he had betrayed them by simply running off, as it seemed he had—he did not question it or say anything more.

It came as a surprise when the language of his people danced past the woman’s lips, though his expression remained neutral. She was not his kin, he knew that without an ounce of uncertainty, but she was familiar with the language.

His interested was captured, though his soul then longed for the north again.

“Kaninngitukuluk,” he replied. “Angiggak... paunngavasittuk.” Beyond where many have seen. It would always be his home, deep within his heart, even if his body was not there. “Nanimiunguven?” he had to then ask. It was unlikely that they came from the same region—those lands were home to his family with very few outsiders present, lest they married into the line—but the language was distinct and he had to know.