Silver Moraine i don't understand - in the future i'm not pretty?

Artyom ventured beyond Whitebark that day, content to allow his mate the opportunity to better rest her wearied body. Their travels to the Southern territories had been tiring for her, made more difficult by bouts of nausea and discomfort that the ranger could not even begin to understand. Dawn had said this sickness was supposed to be a good sign, one that he held firmly onto, but he could not deny his quiet worry that the strain on her would result in tragedy.

So he hunted for her, despite knowing that the sterling Alphess was not the sort to sit back and accept the offerings of her comrades. Fiercely independent, Dawn was more than capable if fending for herself - but her doting mate wished for nothing more than to pamper her. Although she'd accepted his proposal of mateship, Artyom vowed to never stop showing that he cared. 

He did not pick up on any scent of prey on the migraine that afternoon, for instead the biting breeze brought that of his own species. The golden hunter studied the land until his dark eyes located the source: a young she-wolf made of ashen and earthen hues. Artyom paused in his tracks to observe her movements for a further moment before he offered a chuffed alert to his presence.