Swiftcurrent Creek Blackfish

Akavir lifted a paw, rubbing at his cheek for a brief moment as he considered the boys words. “We’re not really about giving hand outs here,” he explained, eyes skimming from the boy and to Moss, noting the slight softening of her countenance. She seemed indifferent, either way—as usual.

“You can stay here and learn to fight. You represent the creek while you’re here—hunt with and for your fellow pack members, scout, and become one of the pack. At least for the winter.” Come spring, the boy would be older, and could decide further what he wanted to do. Akavir arched a brow, waiting for some sort of confirmation or consent.