Lost Creek Hollow Can't you see they turn blind eyes to we swift and spotlit strangers?

He hadn’t expected the temporary transition to be easy—but he had at least hoped for some kind of high power above to cast him a small break, given the sacrifice the wolves of Riverclan were offering his children. They would get the final nourishment they needed—and when Akavir took them back home to the creek, they would move to a den more suitable for their age—a rendezvous den—and hopefully, begin to integrate more with the pack members and learn.

But, of course, he hadn’t expected the fuss in which would be made entirely—particularly when it came to the harshness of puppy teeth upon the soft flesh of new mothers. It was trying to reason with a toddler—logic simply didn’t enter the equation.

Oddly, the notion wasn’t lost on him that he had felt much the same way when dealing with Reverie and Lestan.

When Mae barked his name—the girl clinging to him every moment she could, and Akavir accepting it willingly—he blinked down in surprise, pulled from his thoughts. “Mae,” he returned, leaning his nose down to nudge at her tiny muzzle.