Swiftcurrent Creek Tidal

Sorry 'bout his mood. :c

With borders that had quieter the past few weeks, it seemed an inopportune time for lone wolves to begin discovering them now.

There was a call to the creek wolves, and Akavir, on high alert, was swift in his descent to the caller. His eyes remained stoical, pale champagne stealing over fur of ember. Injured? His nose quivered with the scent of it, and instantly, his guard was up—was this wolf part of the fight at the swamp, with Moss?

He wasn’t usually one to draw out small talk. Particularly now. “How did you gain your injury?” Brusque, perhaps, the Alpha’s muscled form remained stiff as he finally closed enough distance between them, waiting for the stranger to speak.