Swiftcurrent Creek Tidal

He arrived to the borders at his brother's heel, dark eyes sharp and searching. His ears were thrust forward and his brow was furrowed to accompany the frown upon his muzzle, which deepened considerably as the scent of rot invaded his nose.

The source was quick to be located, and Viinturuth curled his upper lip at the inflamed, infected wound that festered at the she-wolf's breast.

He had no words to offer, but merely lingered in preparation to make use of his fangs should Akavir have need of them.