Blackfeather Woods Fiodh

Anselm straightened slightly, anticipating this man to tell him anything but the truth. His mother's skepticism ran wild in him, but Kinloch gave him nothing but honesty. For this he felt his edged shoulders soften, following the stranger's gaze to the outlands.

Not being part of a pack was such an alien principle to Anselm. How did they survive, who was their family? Did they miss them? Was it hard being out in the world, alone? So many questions budded to life, only to never leave the tip of his tongue. Not yet, anyway.

I don't know anything about them, really. Just that they popped up one day, the way weeds do. He couldn't help the dismissiveness of his tone - while he didn't look down on strange packs, he did not love them; he recognized them for what they were.

Competition.

I'm from Paleo. There's a few branches of packs known to me along the mountain range, but this one is new. It is fertile hunting grounds, but the more packs there are the less likely we could all be sustained. Are you not from around here?