Frostfire Ridge blood

wintersbane deigned to stay close to permafrost hollow and check in on keen as she healed from her injuries. when he wasn't helping the others tend to her he was tightening his patrols of the borders — making them shorter but more frequent. he doesn't know if the man responsible ( the brief familiarity still evades and nags at him ) would linger in the area but wintersbane wasn't taking any chances. when he was doing either of those things he was checking and stocking the caches. he'd begun to dig one for medicines but it was all but bare yet.

he's not sure what draws him to the ridge — an itch to wander, perhaps, while being sure to never linger out of calling distance should he be needed; or perhaps it's because the ridge offers a strategic view of the taiga ( specifically the hollows ) and he likes that he has the ability to view the to-be pack from above. not quite a bird's eye view but definitely close enough.

there's some surprise that causes the tundrian's steps to slow, ears cupping forth and hackles to bristle with uncertainty as his glacial gaze falls upon another nearby. a second look beyond the first glimpse assures him this is not the wolf derg had described to him. not silver and not male. instead, she was slender and willowy even from the distance between them and the tundrian draws nearer with measured caution, letting out a low chuff to formally announce his presence.