Swiftcurrent Creek He’s a unicorn with a single horn, he has a cup of tea in the early morn

Winter has a way of silencing the world while also adding its own dull noise—the plodding of paws throw snow was a gentle crunching, and Akavir, while he had never disliked the season before, did find himself missing the familiar songs of the bird and the gentle noises of a busier nature.

A howl called to him—unfamiliar to him still given the boys new status amongst their pack, but easy enough to divulge. The ebony Mayfair was as quick as he could be to the border, rounding closer to sidle up along the opposite side of Shardik, gaze traipsing from the talking boy to the stranger and then to Moss.

His features studious, though blank, he lifted his muzzle, waiting for further explanation before he broke out in any sort of friendly welcome. “A match for you?” Coaxing along the reason—champagne eyes looking over the sturdy wolf with consideration.