Porcupine Ridge sweet nothings,

Lorcan watched the pup with quiet intrigue, his sharp gaze sweeping over the boy’s small yet self-assured frame. It wasn’t often to find one so young alone, and rarer still to find one who carried himself with such poised defiance. Something about the boy’s silence, the way he seemed to measure the world around him, struck a chord in Lorcan—familiar, almost uncomfortably so.

He moved closer, his steps deliberate, the faintest smirk curving his lips as he regarded the young wolf. The quiet confidence, the guarded expression—it reminded him of his own early days, navigating the world with nothing but instinct and resolve.

A flicker of approval passed through him. The ridge seemed a harsh place for a pup, but perhaps that’s what forged such sharp edges. Lorcan lingered a moment longer, his shadow stretching over the boy as he took in the stark resilience etched into his features.

A rare find, he murmured to himself, the thought lingering in his mind as he turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, silently weighing what might become of the sharp-eyed pup. You intrigue me.