Swiftcurrent Creek Blackfish

Moss was the picture of indignation. The frown that darkened her countenance—the sharpness of her gaze on the boy. One could never argue the woman was a friendly and endearing creature—but usually her expression was left impassable at most, and so the wolf gave pause, allowing a catch in the air should either of them feel the need to fill it with a reason.

None given, and the man exhaled, his eyes drifting from the guardian to the youthful man. Haphazard and injured, Akavir’s eyes sought out the intricate details before continuing. “You’re on Swiftcurrent Creek borders.” Again, another pause—the words hanging as Moss chose not to respond to the boys last question that Akavir had only just overheard when he had come closer.

“We do.” His eyes pointedly regarded the injuries of the young man. “But I’m going to need to know why you’re banged up. We’ve dealt with some troublesome wolves the past few months. If you’re part of that, you can turn back around and go the way you just came.”