Stone Circle devour to survive, so it's always been

Faðir is greeted with a fleeting brush of cheek to a grizzled side. His ire stagnates. There is great duress upon the man who endeavors to be both a present father and the pack’s chief leader. Dissension in the valley frays at his golden years. The nornir endeavors to do what she can in aid of this, keeping their borderlines manned when Gunnar is with his children, but her own swelling sides elude to more responsibility in Kvarsheim soon to come.

“She’s got spunk,” Tauris eases with a laugh and an inviting sweep of her muzzle that welcomes Akavir to their lea. “No need to apologize for that. Let’s go get your girls.” She paces back.

“Where’d the cub come from?” A begetting curiosity asks. She didn’t need to know such a thing but the creek wolves had made it their business, she reasons. Mae had called the pup her sister, and Tauris wonders idly how many of his wolves the creek alpha had covered this season- and why she wasn't with her mother.