Lion Head Mesa the mosquitoes were almost unbearable

The grow that emerged from the one-eyed wolf cowered Crowfeather. The length of his dark legs shrunk in size, and he did what he could to put space between them, fearing that he would suffer the same loss as the stranger – missing an eye, a limb, the breath from his lungs – and he regretted having approached.

Germanicus’ words flitted through his mind. They were to act on the defensive, and this wolf stated that he would be leaving soon. Crowfeather wondered if it meant he did not belong there to begin with. Was this a spy? Was it another wolf seeking the pleasures of the Akashingo wolves? No, he could tell just by looking at the ruddy male that he was a savage stranger who was pulled to fraying.

Leaving? You- forgive me, are you fighting the war with the Saints? Crowfeather’s voice quavered.