Swiftcurrent Creek Stare al Proprio Posto

He had been at his den by the lower part of the creek, having a nap, midday sun shining down upon his white coat. Ever the light sleeper, however, he was drifting between two realms: consciousness and the land of dreams. But it was a howl that woke him up, ringing out and reminding him of an all-too-familiar face.

Frederick jumped, then, blinking exhaustion away from his eyes as he practically raced towards the border. He would throw his own head back, then, letting out a howl of his own: Milan! It would echo. I'm coming! And it felt that his legs could not carry him fast enough; pushing himself across the pack-land and towards his lady.

And he saw her. The brown dot on the horizon, standing there, waiting for him. A beloved site, truly. Frederick had always been the one to travel closer to her own home: the meadow, the glade. Never to the valley, but here she was, now. Waiting on pack borders. Waiting for him. When he approached, finally, he would pause in front of her, searching her eyes as if he was still dreaming. The chance that this was not real.

But despite that, he pushed himself into her, their fur a mixture of white and brunette. Mingling. You're here, he breathed, then, a slight pant behind his voice. His head craned around her neck, then, nosing at the space between her shoulders. But a weariness made him pull back. Why are you here? Did something happen at the valley?

A careful examination. Nitpicking her coat, looking for any sign of harm. Yes, he wanted Milan to be here for him, but his wants did not matter if she needed respite.