Firefly Glen Here where once was found.

The travel had been arduous—but the companionship among them had been welcome. Akavir had carried as much as of the goods they had brought as he could handle—some things in which to trade and offer—other things in which to offer the hosts of the great hunt. In truth, politics had never been a strong suit for the Mayfair, who had taken course from Constantine in his younger years—pack was pack, family was family, and simply stick with what one knew, if one could.

They had waited for the turn of the leaves—they had begun their travel at best estimation, and when Rodyn’s beckoning howl summoned them forward, Akavir felt a certain sense of relief the timing had been appropriate. If he sought to find others right now, he did not show it—whether it was the flash of a dark coywolf, or the silver of his heart—instead, his attention remained on his pack mates. Mae was kept close to him—he worried for her—and when @Cygnet had painted herself with blood, he had huffed a bemused sigh, but let her continue her challenge.

They were directed to a camp—a place for themselves, and he worked to settle his daughter there now, a crooked grin pressing to his muzzle. “Thought we had enough wolves in the valley to piss off with our presence before,” he murmured to @Mae. “Imagine the stretch we have now.”

@Sven had greeted them earlier—a youth he wasn’t familiar with. But he had made a promise to seek the boy out later, after being settled—his interest piqued.