Ouroboros Spine My night with the prostitute from Marseille.

Luhtar had been watching quietly from a short distance away, half-hidden behind a spindly shrub at the forest’s edge. He’d caught their scents—outsiders pressing close to Moonglow’s land—and had approached with caution.

The older she-wolf’s tension was clear, and when the younger one choked, Luhtar’s muscles coiled, ready to intervene if need be.

But before he could decide to step forward, the mother slammed a paw against her pup’s back, dislodging whatever had stuck there.

Luhtar winced at the crack of impact, his ears flicking with sympathy. "Ouchie." He could not stop himself from verbally reacting, and when he did, yellow eyes flew open with surprise. Now that his cover was blown, if he'd ever been as covered as he'd thought, Luhtar decided to take things into his own paws.

He took a slow step forward, letting a soft chuff roll from his throat—announcing himself without hostility. "Kid alright?"