Whitebark Stream when I was a young warthog

Despite his worries, his aunt was the first wolf to meet him at the borders — not only without rancor, but with open arms. Relief flooded him as she pulled him to her, and Valiant returned the embrace whole-heartedly, covering her chin in contrite kisses as if he were still small enough to be folded up safe and small underneath her

They had never really had that sort of relationship. From the first moment he'd seen her, Valiant had felt the ache of love and common blood, and some deeper admiration that he could not put a name to. But he'd spent precious little time with the woman, so it was heartening to be greeted with such love, such acceptance.

"You too," he said to her, although after a moment, he could not fathom why he might imply that she'd grown. When he pulled back, however, he saw her injured and battle-scarred, and that feeling welled in his chest for a moment: pride, longing, a love he didn't understand but welcomed eagerly into his heart. "What happened?" he asked her, his voice not absent of worry, but suffused with so much awe that the worry could only just shine through. Aunt Dawn must be the baddest chick he knew.