Swiftcurrent Creek bayou

It was a strange concept for the dark wolf. The earthy male was basically adamant to assist--whether for the sake of the wolves who had attacked he and Arric, or for the simple desire to be of use. The Frostfur-Mayfair couldn't fully understand it, nor did he bother further trying to.

At the offer to get the injured girl some water, Akavir gave a soft incline of his muzzle in acceptance to this, believing this to have wrapped up their conversation. If the girl continued to refuse anything from them and let her wounds fester more, soon, infection would set in and she would die. Or, perhaps she would die of dehydration first, or hunger. His intent to keep her back from the fleeing rogues and from probable death had been moot--and he had regrets on doing so now.

Instead, the other wanted his name, and Akavir scoured his gaze over Lestan, considering for a moment. "Akavir. Akavir Frostfur-Mayfair. Son to Constantine and Durnehviir."