Firefly Glen barefoot in the kitchen, sacred new beginnings

‘Shameful,’ came the deep purring voice as he slid close to her. Meadow knew which of the brothers had followed her, not just by scent alone, but by the common tongue he used more fluently than his companion. Her heart rattled against her ribcage nonsensically for a moment—and yet Stjor was here, discussing these dangerous wolves.

She felt his touch against her skin and fur, instilling with her more confidence now, reassuring her and also igniting a wave of guilt that she could have considered the brothers had been the culprits… if even for a stolen moment. She knew nothing of them—yet.

She breathed out, her eyes moving from the pale rake to study the agouti male before them, waiting for his answer. At the mention of two packs, she felt her relief solidify her resolve—her beasts safe from the list of those damned.

“Thank you,” she murmured, finding her voice once more, as soft as it were. Her muzzle tipped upward, nosing at Stjor lightly in returned greeting, her own tail giving an idle flick along her haunch. “This is Stjor.” She paused, noting the absence of Sol and wondering if he was shortly behind them before her gaze caught Osiris. Handsome—his eyes like a pine forest. “Your borders smell fresh. Are you newly claiming?”