Swiftcurrent Creek Trades and Hunts and Rivers

A stranger—a distance from the borders, but the summoning howl with intentions of meeting had Akavir drawing forth—wild in appearance, disheveled, and heavyhearted. His eyes grazed over the man at first inspection—his tongue smoothing over his lips.

A hide upon the man’s back—the scent of travel was what stood out most—did he have a home?

Was he aware of the dangers that lurked near these valleys?

“Welcome,” he offered—tone ragged, before he cleared his throat. “You’re near Swiftcurrent Creek lands. I’m Akavir—the Alpha.”

The wind teased at the dark fur along the Mayfair’s nape—the warmth of summer feeling more imprisoning these days than usual.