Sleepy Fox Hollow gain no strength from counting the beads on a rosary

Something shifted in the air as the General came to a halt near enough for Rian to feel the heavy thunder rolling through the wild lilac fields of the other's terrifically tempered stare. The judgement he now faced depended on the will of this man, but his restrain gave rise to hope within Rian; that he would treat with reason, and not pass a terrible sentence without due cause.

He claimed a hastened breath, nose flaring—the arrival of another missed entirely until the white of her fur materialized from the snows, and the severe gleam of harvest orange eyes raked astutely across him. His ears slicked flat against his heavily-furred neck to acknowledge, and submit, to her presence. The first spoke, voice accented thickly with origins he couldn't place, and a tremor of intrigue ran through one splayed ear at question and intonation alike. 

"I come from the Frosthawks, pack two days southwest of Silver Creek," he answered, wondering if it would spark recognition within either, or both, of the Hollow wolves. "My brother's eldest are going into their season so out of caution, and respect, I've returned to the Teekons."