The Tangle Explode your hours and you'll see how time will transform.

Lost Creek Hollow was unfamiliar to him, for the only nearby pack he was aware of was Rusalka - who'd positioned themselves directly beside Drageda's claim. He found himself wondering how close this male's home might be and how long they'd been around, though it did not concern him the way the group on the sound did. The hollow's wolves hadn't bothered Dacio's companions before, and his newest acquaintance seemed approachable enough.

"I'm Dacio," the ashen youth returned, and pricked a velvet lobe at the question regarding his mother tongue. "We call it Trigedasleng," he answered, "spoken only among our wolves and those of our sister packs."

When the time came to part ways, Dacio found he was almost loathe to do so. Baelfire had provided something of a temporary escape from his troubles, and the dread of returning to the cliffs to face them settled in his belly like stone. But he was a dutiful boy, and he turned away from his newest acquaintance with a polite dip of his head in farewell, and made to return to Drageda to witness its downward spiral.