Whitebark Stream There are names across the sea, only now I do believe.

The gilded ranger felt sorry for Salvatore, genuinely. He seemed torn, unsure how to approach his companion with such a delicate request for information, likely even fearful - as he himself had been. He supposed he still was, at times, afraid of the unknown, but it was his hope as well as Dawn's support that kept him afloat.

He wished there was more he could say to better encourage his ashen-furred comrade, but he was in no position to offer advice on what to expect with parenthood when he had no experience. "Whatever happens," he said with a hint of a smile, albeit a solemn one, "I'm sure things will work out for the best." And to quote what he'd told his mate following their own coupling: "destiny has a funny way of bringing wolves together." Perhaps Sal and his she-wolf were meant to be; perhaps he and Artyom were meant to cross paths, as two newcomers to the realm of fatherhood.

It seemed like a good note to end their discussion on, and so Artyom gathered himself to offer a polite dip of his muzzle as he turned to depart. He wished good luck for Salvatore, hoped he would go boldly into this uncertain future that he'd come face-to-face with, and come out unscathed on the other side.