Whitebark Stream Don't drag me along to your slaughterhouse.

She was a gentle sort, he felt safe to conclude, with a shy smile and doe eyes. Artyom did not doubt her seemingly large heart, as she pressed on to speak kindly of their pack-mates. Enthusiastic to point out that she'd encountered several pleasant wolves who supported Dawn's claim, he was glad to hear no suggestion of bag eggs among the group.

"I am happy to hear that," the golden hunter told her smoothly, and blinked as he prepared a response to her question. It reminded him of his discussion with Dawn the day prior, and he figured most of the wolves in this part of the continent would be curious about where he came from considering the unusual way in which he spoke. "A place far from here," Artyom informed, "my family made their home on territory with frost year-yound, nestled on high ground. I branched off a year ago but they likely remain there still, as they have done for generations."