Bearclaw Valley the great imitators

To say that she was concerned about the state of the pups was an understatement. She had little loyalty to the wolves of this pack, having scarcely met all of them, but pups were a different matter. They never meant to harm anyone, their only crime was being born. She had no knowledge of the story behind the silent woman's brood, or whether Merrick had actually fathered them, but his little outburst so soon after their birth had disquieted her. She lingered around Astara's den, delivering food when she could, but overall protecting, suspicious of the wolves that were her packmates.

She had to take breaks though, from her lonely vigil. She pulled herself towards the river that fed the Valley and found that she was not alone. A soft voice spoke those universal and timeless words that always meant the same thing. She stepped towards him. Go on then, lad, Orson urged on the pale wolf, curious to hear what story he had gnawing at his brain.