Dragoncrest Cliffs How is it not ice.

The constant drone of soft rain was broken by a female voice. The wolf’s eyes rose from the patch of ground they’d been fixed to, meeting hers. Dogfish, a member he’d only ever offered a passing greeting. 

Her remark might’ve been considered rude by most, but only made the old wolf chuff a laugh. 

He’d be lying if his interest in joining Sapphique initially didn’t have something to do with having a peaceful place to die. Living this long hadn’t been part of the plan. 

”Workin’ on it,” he finally responded. ”Hard to concentrate on it when young’ns keep interruptin’.”