Blackfoot Forest I will not leave alone everything that I own

Morwenna had been circling the outskirts of Swiftcurrent Creek, her senses attuned to the faint shifts in the forest—subtle cracks of branches, the rustle of leaves underpaw, the scent of early morning dew. She had no expectation of finding anything more than fleeting prey or the odd trace of neighboring wolves. But then, she caught it: the faint trace of another wolf, unfamiliar but deliberate.

Her eyes narrowed as she moved toward the scent, her body low and cautious. It wasn’t long before the figure emerged—a man, compact and sturdy, his fur a blend of russet and flaxen, catching the pale dawnlight like fire through the trees. He moved with purpose, his nose to the ground, his golden eyes sharp and intent, oblivious to the soft beauty of the morning that unfolded around him.

Morwenna’s head tilted slightly as she regarded him, curiosity tempered by her role as a scout. This was not a wolf she knew, and she didn’t take kindly to strangers so close to the Creek. Stepping forward, she made her presence known with a sharp bark.

What business do you have here? she asked, her voice low and steady, though her silver gaze was anything but warm. This isn’t a place to wander without reason.

She stood firm, watching him closely, noting the tension in his posture and the way his focus seemed to linger far beyond her. There was a story here, she thought, though it wasn’t her nature to pry. Yet, the way he carried himself—like a soldier on a battlefield long abandoned—left her wondering.