Lost Creek Hollow umquam

Germanicus—the man he had heard of, but had yet to meet. His own trio of pups lay resting—sleep having found them after he had played a quiet tracking game with them. Still growing, they slept less often—but far more soundly when he managed to wear them out.

So he stepped away from them for a moment, his thoughts emotional at first—why hunt the witch further when it was Reverie she had wanted? Why waste more resources to protect a she-wolf who held no gratitude or appreciation for it?

Quickly, he narrowed those thoughts—for the mere idea of anything happening to Reverie, Lestan or Blossom was enough to burn a fire in his chest. “How injured is she? If she can’t make it far in a week, I can travel with you, once I bring my children home.”

He paused then, eyes leveling with the man. “The ones she threatened are no longer at the creek—they’ve taken their leave. I imagine she is even more a threat to them when they’re on their own.” And with that, his features hardened. “Blood will have blood.” He was not finished with this witch.