Whitefish River Cold in my kingdom size

Keeping himself busy proved to be the best thing possible for the recruit, as it gave Raimo plenty of time to understand the lay of the land as well as the pack he had pledged himself to. His need to seek out the myths and legends he had grown up with did diminish, but they never evaporated fully. He would return to those stories time and again when he sought solace; when he slept, he eagerly dreamed of all the places he would one day go and all the creatures he would hunt down. In the daylight though, he was focused on more material things.

He filled caches for most of the morning - fish, primarily. It was surprisingly easy for the hefty northerner to fall in to old habits, hoisting fat salmon from the water and tossing it against the rocks, pleased to watch the fish twitch until they suffocated. That was dark - but necessary. He'd filled two caches already and was well on his way to a third when the call rose up. It was not a voice he knew.

It was, however, very close to where Raimo had chosen to fish that morning. He held a fish by the gills and unceremoniously dropped it, hearing the plop of its body in the shallows. It didn't matter much to Raimo if the fish escaped - he could catch another. The man's focus shifted from fishing to prowling, and he sauntered along the riverside in search of the summoner.

When he came upon the stranger she was standing boldly along the territory's limit. Raimo approached her with caution, but also confidence. He was a well built man and like many wolves, he could hold his own in a fight. He was dedicated to keeping his new home safe. With a watchful eye he sized up the stranger, noticing the feminine scent, then took note of a wound upon her dark shoulder.

This is Kaislteoki, lass. What're you callin' for? He drew a deep breath next, tense and wary.