Nocturne Summit A sea of clouds

Cheeks scorched hot with fire, Crowfeather looked down at his paws. The laugh that he had expected to be mocking was instead surprised, pleasant. If anything, it suited the rough and diligent nature of the silver guardian well. The dark wolf was not ashamed to have heard the laugh, not even in reference to what he might have said.

He was touched. 

Do most wolves claim their packs thinking of those things? Crowfeather asked. 

It would make sense if the wolves of Redhawk Caldera had selected the rough edges of their home with intent. Smart, but they had not seemed the type of wolf to have many enemies. This was naive of him, yes. 

All he could think of was the Saints. Were they not the most likely to have enemies nipping at their paws? Crowfeather began to wonder if he was easily fooled by generosity.