Kildeer Rest This Race Is a Prophecy

"I'm holding you to that." Brewster's lips parted into a toothy, self-assured smile. He had half a mind to jab back at his nephew's retort, to joke that he was only out here to make sure young Calhoun didn't perish himself, but decided against it. The boy had been through enough; let them first find the rest of the family, and then he could taunt him to his heart's content.

The man followed Calhoun's gesture as he motioned to the distant mountains, gaze narrowed in doubt. The Déorwine were wolves of the forest, surely the High Elk would not lead them into a place full of rocks and ice? Still, the boy was correct in his thinking — the fields so far seemed devoid of wolven life, their best bet would be to head west into the mountains.

"Let's get to it then," he said with an affirmative nod, though quickly realised it would be slow going with his damned injured paw. "You, uh, can scout ahead, boy." His cocky demeanour faltered for a moment before it was just as quickly replaced with a beaming grin. "I'll search the area here and follow at a distance."