Cassiopeia's View little bird, i have branches above my head

The pleasure's all mine. The earthen male replied in politeness, dark face tilting softly to the side as he listened to the Déorwine woman explain. Kingslend was indeed a prideful pack just as he'd thought. From what he could gather, they centered around this High Elk. His face gave no indication of how many pieces he was attempting to put together in his mind... Was the High Elk a god of sorts? An epithet for another wolf in power? An actual being? 

Henryk knew of gods, though admittedly not about this one. His parents once told stories to him and his littermates about the deities of the seasons, who chased each other around in a long circle around the land. With them, they brought changes that adhered to their personalities... It had always bothered him how his parents always regarded Autumn as a dying crone. He always thought of her as a beautiful she-wolf, gently plucking the excess tufts from her fur that would litter the ground like leaves...

Blinking, the man stopped himself before his mind wandered too far. Did you follow him here?