Swiftcurrent Creek You packed your bags full of letting go.

A streak of white following the mottled near-interloper. Bemusement held fast to Akavir, though his face remained solemn as he leapt from his place of solitude, a higher ledge up having offered him quite the entertaining show.

Only when he heard the semi-familiar voice of Ancelin and his chosen words did the swarthy creek wolf’s lips quirk upward in amusement—his rugged form sidling up toward the side of his brother, though his pale champagne eyes were scoring over the Bearclaw man. “I thought ‘Nicky Nicky nine door’ was a pups game,” he offered, a sideways glance then given to his littermate.