Qeya River dignity broke the fall.

questions don’t seem to help. the cub starts crying, still all but flattened to the dirt. probably not doing that much to make him less scared; not sure what she can do. she doesn’t have much of a friendly face.

low huff rises in her chest. just her luck the cub doesn’t know. but – not his fault. she’s sure it’s common enough – not so easy to find your way home in the rain. not so easy for parents to find a lost cub in it either.

she leans down. sniffs at him, brief and fast, takes her head away – not here to make him panic. knows a wolf border scent well enough – not who this particular one belongs to, but she can pick the notes up under rain and wolf fur. should be able to identify it if she finds it again.

“you know your pack’s name?” borya asks. pup’s not a newborn – should have taught him that much, at least. “where they live? if it’s forest, river, or mountain?” a pause. "or how far you've walked?"