Lost Creek Hollow we all feed on tragedy

It was becoming apparent that the wolf before him wasn’t a man of confidence—the quiet of his voice, the stance in which he held and his words chosen. Yet, the honesty about him was what drew Akavir to continue—champagne eyes warm upon the other, thoughtful.

“Where we border close to the mountains and that entrance to our valley, the Creek are able to keep an eye on potential danger and news from those outside areas,” he began, his eyes still fast upon the man—studying for reactions. “But there are ways into the valley north of you, and even south… If you’d like, I can send one or more of our wolves to scout around those areas from time to time, pending weather.”

A perimeter check of sorts. “If Riverclan is bringing herbs and medicines to the table, we are able to bring such things as scouting and guarding.” He paused then, his muzzle tipping lightly in acquiescence. “But I’ll be honest with you—I’m not looking to simply rely on one another just for what we can trade or do—I’m looking to build an alliance in the valley so our families can live in harmony and respect with one another. A shangri-la, if you will.”