Swiftcurrent Creek Nile

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River snorted, prepared to make some morbid allusion to Guillotine and their twin, Executioner, but the banter was cut woefully short by the appearance of a dark boy, roughly (read: exactly) the same age as her own children. The child had a strange white ring encircling an eye and, apparently, quite the mouth.

River sighed as the comments set off her children, each bristling with varying degrees of affront. All except for sweet Creek, who just kind of snickered quietly to himself. Jet was the only one to retaliate verbally, however, while the others minded their mother’s sidelong glare.

“I’m not no slave!” The “toad-eyed” boy crowed.

Then, a lean in and a quiet, “pssst, Hare, real quick, what’s a slave?”

“It means ‘servant,’” the girl stage-whispered back, reigniting Jet’s righteous fury.

“HWAT?! I’ll show you a fuckin’ sla—”

River’s ominous growling cut him off. Not now.

All four littermates fell deathly still for a moment.

Having been brought up as loners their entire lives so far, her children had been raised much stricter than most pack-born wolves, and they knew better than to disobey because their lives were more at risk. (This, of course, made them ripe for rebellion these days – but they still knew better than to do so in front of River.)

Later, she would explain to them the precariousness of being a loner near packlands, how they could not afford to be injured without their own pack to support them, and that they weren’t in any position to take offense to whatever “welcome wagon” was wheeled out.

Though sufficiently curbed, Jet’s spine continued to ripple disdainfully, and he glared daggers across the way, muttering to himself: “I’m gonna pee right on that stupid eye circle one day, just watch.”

Expelling her annoyance in a breath forced through her nose, the huntress waved her tail. As you can see, we’re in need of some socialization. I’d like for them to not be completely feral, if I can help it.