Moonspear locks

There was a beckon at the borders—and vigilant as always, the silver man swept to it, knowing Sialuk could intercept if her time allowed.

Pale eyes met that of a she-wolf—ivory and stunning. “Hail,” he called—uncustomary a greeting for the wolves of this mountain but one he had grown up on. “This is Moonspear and I am Argent. How can I help you?”