Bearclaw Valley a seal on the subject

Fraser had never taken part in a pack howl. He had never helped to settle a place. The closest he'd gotten was when his human masters had moved into a new residence, and he'd pissed all over the back yard, claiming it as his own.

This was different. This was wild. The looming crags were less fences than walls, keeping them safe, keeping out enemies. He was free to come and go as he pleased. He was free to hunt, to fight, to run without boundaries.

And when the howl went up, he felt it in his soul. He would never go home again.

The deerhound added his voice to the mix—foreign and strange, a ululating melody. But a part of something bigger, as he now was. A servant of Merrick and his shadow-mistress, and of the valley he now called his own.