Swiftcurrent Creek yiron

They prepared to leave—he did not wish to rush their journey, particularly when he wanted to ensure a pace Mae was comfortable in. The call at the borders had found him mid-hunt—the porcupine hanging precariously from his jaws—careful only now to touch the undersides of the creature.

One quill stuck sorely to his cheek—throbbing. When he came upon mother and son, his pale eyes swam over them, brows knitting together before releasing into the stoical mask he presented most of the world, and unceremoniously dropped the dead porcupine to his feet.

Nose lifting, tongue looking to press against his lips and clean some of the blood, he boldly moved closer, eyes first falling upon the tired and hungry boy—only then, his eyes softening.

Tilting his muzzle to the direction of the fire-tinged woman, he presented a cheek—testing. “Help a guy out?”

He had meant to seek Arlette—but maybe this other wolf could save the Beta from feeling the need to lecture him on being more careful.