Lost Creek Hollow we all feed on tragedy

Eislyn remained silent—something the shadow runner was unused to, and he had to suppress a small smirk. The man that greeted them was an unexpected sight—his champagne eyes swept over him swiftly, taking in three limbs and ensuring his stare did not linger. At the forefront of his mind, Silvertongue had mentioned they were not fighters, the clan wolves, and thus, this only seemed logical to him—not that the man could not learn should he will it.

At the hesitant greeting, Akavir’s stance softened, his shoulder grazing his sister’s before his muzzle dipped down in an act of courtesy to the wolf—for he remained only a visitor. “Hi—My name is Akavir of Swiftcurrent Creek. I promised your Silvertongue that we would be by to meet you sooner than later.” He paused, considering Jakoul—realizing his sister was likely not privvy to that scenario. “My sincerest apologies it took me until now. We had a few matters to tend to.”