Swiftcurrent Creek As my garden grows aches and the turf drinks old rain

The call was good news—or, so he thought, given Arric’s statement of Reverie missing the wayward Mayfair. Akavir was quick to intercept the caller, but unfortunately not enough to beat the welcome wagon that greeted Lestan.

Reverie had Blossom in tow once more and Akavir sent a pointed look to both Reverie and the stranger upon their borders—allies or not, why would she bring a cub to the pack borders? Moss, also, took a guarded and cold stance—and with one last lingering look at the wreckage of his cousin, the Alpha bristled, his own stance becoming firm—protective of the man, even as his gaze drifted over to both of the creek women. “Reverie, I know you have much to say, but I need a moment with my cousin. Moss, why don’t you take her to go rest… and get Blossom from the pack borders.” It was a statement worded to be kind—but his tone did not offer much room for argument that would be taken well.

A small nod was given to Lestan’s companion—though he spoke no more, waiting for the other two to leave.