Swiftcurrent Creek neck full of mockingbirds, all calling your name

‘She knows I know, Akavir,’ was like a slap to the face—only because he knew that it likely had brought the silver woman distress. His jaw tensed—teeth grinding together as he thought, though his muzzle dipped lower, eyes upon the ground as he thought.

Wren wanted him gone from the valley—a notion he didn’t disagree with. She spoke of her care for the woman—his naive assumption forefront that she meant as friends… but his gaze lifted, and he wondered if it were more than that.

Was he allowed to feel that jerk of jealousy when he was beginning to turn his attentions to Eshe? When he knew that he and Silvertongue, together, would never happen, nor did it even make sense?

He lifted a paw to wash against his features, a quiet ‘hmph,’ given. “Gunnar will insist on knowing the reasons why if we make a bold claim: whether we bar Germanicus from the creek or insist he leaves the valley at the risk of our alliance. Gunnar is protective if his wolves… Rightfully so.” Akavir and Arric would be the same.

“If we make any move, Arric needs to know. At least enough of the details. I can’t keep him on the outside of this… He deserves to know… if only because the creek and our own have been in his best interest, if not Silvertongue as well.” And then, he finally looked to her, pale eyes searching her as he wondered. “What does she want to do?”