Whitebark Stream To return from the ashes you call

Artyom ached following the death of Salvatore. He did his best to keep such sorrow to himself, knowing that it not in the best interest of the pack should he choose to squirrel himself away. It would do his wolves good to see their Alpha male out and about: hunting, patrolling, making the effort to reach out and integrate. Sal would be missed, often and sorely, but Artyom had faith that Whitebark would survive its most recent tragedy.

He worried, naturally. Their numbers had dwindled in recent times: Anokhi, Connor and newcomer Kavik most recently. The pale leader hoped they were well enough, wherever they'd gone, though his concern lay primarily with the two litters that the pack would have in the approaching weeks - days, perhaps. Newborns would mean losing two capable hunters, additional mouths to feed, and dread settled right at the heart of him with fear that he might fail his family.

A call interrupted the wolf's miserable thoughts, one that sounded oddly familiar. It was a request for Dawn, for leadership, and Artyom went toward the source at once. He found a sterling figure and, on approach, recognised his familiarity with Dawn and quickened his pace to greet him with an enthusiastically waving tail.

Some good news, at last.