Whitebark Stream just around the corner

Daylily jumped, even though the young wolf’s greeting was so soft. She was a bit embarrassed at being caught in her “king of the world” pose, standing at the bank of the stream as she was. She turned around and smiled sheepishly at the pup, her tail wagging behind her. “Hello,” she replied, just as softly. “We haven’t met. My name is Daylily, of Oakstead.” Her ears perked forward, and she gazed upon the pup, waiting for her to give her own name. Daylily had noticed with delight how quickly the ranks were growing. This one was still a pup, but even pups were useful to packs; they reminded all the adults what it was like to be young again.