Hoshor Plains a place and a people

there's a very brief moment that exists, there and gone in the breadth of a heartbeat, that arktos wonders if he would ever have to worry about dutch. which was a very bold thing to think of a man that had allowed his most base of instincts to take over as he lay with another woman, moons ago now. he'd deserve no less, lets be truthful. arktos holds to his silence, not real sure what to say to dutch's initial words. he'd tell nephele she missed him, sure, but he might very well omit the other admissions.

true, he wasn't half as pretty to look at as his wife was. nor did he have her grace with words.

he was, truthfully, probably not the one most wolves wished to cross paths with. about as conversational as a bull and with the same sort of mean glint in his eye, itching for a good ol' bar brawl.

arktos wasn't familiar with the coast, hadn't bothered to familiarize himself with many territories beyond the plains that yellowstone now claimed; holding it's own secrets to discover, he was confident. admittedly, he was a bit surprised to hear that morningsong — now morningside — had survived. their numbers had been dangerously low when he and nephele had departed.

i'll pass along the word, when she gets back. he promises, hoping his wife would be more familiar with 'moontide' than he was.