Wapun Meadow oh aberdeen, you've been calling to me

Pale eyes followed the colorful form—the lavender-eyed wolf quick to cut to the chase, and Akavir withheld the smallest smirk at the tone offered. It wasn’t outwardly challenging—nor was the youthful an entirely inviting.

Akavir’s gaze swept past him, looking toward the direction of the bearclaw valley before falling back upon the other man. “No—scouting, keeping an eye on things,” he offered, his own tone lofty, bar guarded. It would seem the other had chosen to settle within the valley, after all.

“We had a couple of wolves come by our borders and offer a hefty bounty for the head of a man who attacked one of their wives. Aging man of black fur—silver eyes. Some grey on his face.” Spare the eyes—and Akavir would like to think some of the grey in the face—the men had all but described him and a handful of others within the vicinity. Still—“They hailed from two different packs. One called Moontide, and one called Moonsong.”