Qeya River I was following the pack

blackfell hadn't yet seen this wolf. he had thought he had familiarized himself with most of the faces thus far—apparently he was wrong.

from where he was seated at the edge of the winding, frigid river, he watches as the yearling moves closer into the territory. his rounded ears twitching, swiveling towards the sound of crunching pawsteps; nostrils flaring as he sniffs at his scent carried on the winter wind.

curious.

he doesn't approach, doesn't say anything, but he is staring.