Swiftcurrent Creek winter solstice

A muzzle swung back over his shoulder—champagne eyes falling upon the tawny brown wolf who ambled behind him, marking their claim. His countenance softened for a moment—for while Lestan’s intentions were still lost to the Mayfair, there was something to be said that the boy was still here, despite it all in the few weeks that had passed.

His pause given to allow Lestan to catch up to him, Akavir inclined his muzzle lightly in a silent greeting. “Anything of interest to report?”