Big Salmon Lake Even if it's a lie, say it will be alright, and I shall believe

That was when he noticed that there was another wolf moving along the lakeside. Worse, it had noticed him. Dragomir’s hazel eyes locked onto the approaching form of Bronco. The closer the other man got, the more his back stiffened and his muscles tightened, prepared to jump into action at the first sign of hostility.

Bronco was downwind of him, leaving Dragomir as the one with a huge disadvantage. The approaching wolf would be able to tell everything about him by smell—his age, his health, his sex, where he’d been recently, the last thing he’d eaten—while he was left in the dark. He could guess from musculature that the tawny wolf was a male, but that was all he had to go on. He didn’t recognize Bronco at all, especially now that they were no longer fresh, reedy yearlings, but young men both on the cusp of maturity.

He raised his hackles in warning and pinned his ears forward, hoping to ward any possible animosity off by seeming strong, himself. They were close to Moonspear, if he remembered correctly, and he felt certain his old comrades would stand with him against some unruly loner if needed, but he wasn’t keen on being indebted to them, so he didn’t bother to call for them. He’d loved the pack and the wolves there, but he remembered Arcturus, and he'd come to enjoy his freedom.