Moonspear I wear my long black dress, and a veil of disaster

There was a time, once, when Dragomir would've disagreed wholeheartedly with what Hydra said. There was a time when he might've grown up to share his mother's opinion: a pack's territory was theirs to sustain them, but wolves had no right to lands beyond what they had claimed. He might once have valued allies over hunting grounds. His life had taken him down a different path, however, one that had shaped him into a harder and harsher wolf than his mother ever would have wanted him to become, and famine had fashioned of him more of a possessor. Now, he agreed completely that they were unwelcome.

We should pay them a visit? he assumed. Not a friendly one, but a demonstrative one. Although he'd fainted in the end, Dragomir recalled the way that Moonspear's wolves had commanded the scene at Big Salmon Lake with the moose. The power and respect that came with a show of force like that was intoxicating even just to think about, especially to a boy who had lacked both of those things for the entirety of his life.

She asked about Arcturus, prompting Dragomir to sheepishly look away. Not really, he admitted, attempting to distract himself from the disapproval he expected by fixing his eyes on a jagged stone at his feet. He swung a paw halfheartedly toward it, kicking it down the slope. I've been looking for my sister.