Swiftcurrent Creek copper thunder

He watched a near replica of himself—eyes brighter, perhaps—stiffen when realizing his presence. Muskrat practically oozed her pleasure in this moment—clearly, his Delta was being poached by his son, and she was bartering just how it would occur, claiming a position as one of many brides.

He knew by now the little panther worked to rise his ire on purpose—and while the feral anger that burned in his chest at the unfair hand dealt to his precious eldest simmered within him—the blood still wet from a wolverine he had caught upon their lands, just as he had her—she would be sorely disappointed in his reaction, he was certain.

Dropping the carcass, unceremoniously to the ground, he gave a half-hearted nudge of it to her, a gleam in his gaze—challenge, maybe. “For the possible pups you’re carrying,” he offered—purposely. He did not know if she was with or without child—nor if they were his. Were they his sons, though? Why else would the young man be here, unless he had met her during her little adventure the prior weeks?

The irony of that almost drew a twisted smile to his face, and he swallowed a bitter laugh.

Instead, his gaze drifted over his son. “You look well, Jakub.”