Qeya River Await the love that I call trouble

"Juniper!" 

Altnough Artyom was hot on the trail, he loosed call for his daughter often. She'd gotten exceptionally good at evading her mother, but at only three months of age it was far too soon for her to be straying far beyond Whitebark markings. It was difficult to find the balance in which to instruct her on safety outside their territory, and he did his best to reign in any rear-drive frustration as he canted an ear at the clear sound of the child's voice from among the foliage.

"There you are," he announed, earthen gaze sweeping briefly over the gangly youth's slight frame to ensure she was unharmed before looking to the present adults. Aphrodite lingered nearby, a suitable guardian, but it was the proximity of an obviously uncomfortable stranger to his offspring that had the gilded leader a little on edge. 

He scrutinised the pale-furred male for a moment longer, tried to guage his intentions. Had he been attracted to the area in search of a mate, perhaps? The breeding season had waned, but Artyom had learned that this did not deter some dispersal wolves from trying their luck. Considering his pack-mate's recent trauma, he was at once troubled by the possibility of a rogue attempting to take advantage of her again.

The Alpha straightened, and turned attention once more to his pup. He shot her a pointed stare: "Вы были отчитаны за это раньше," he told her coolly, glad for the privacy of their shared tongue, "пожалуйста, пусть это будет в последний раз."