beowulf

Nowke

pack.

young nowke feels it in how skydanser brushes against him, her side to his. a blending of furs; silver white against mahogany red, distinctive cue shared only between kith.

it is clear in the gathering of wolves where leadership lay. for to her he offers deference, the dipping of his dark head, the sweeping of glacier blues against her legs that range long.

the other red-furred male seems eager to offer, too, his allegiance. nowke's tail hitches in a wag, held aloft at even playing field. but to him, his eyes still measure. youth in himself and the square of his shoulders still broadening into adult size, but his mind was sharpened.

taught to him by his mother: pragmatism. taught to him by his father: battle. and his mind teeters always between either. it required only a push, and he could land on either side. yet if the wealda trusts him, then so must he too.

nowke presses his cold nose into the shoulder of the alpha female, a touch that does not linger more than it need to. meant only to say that he accepts what decision she will make.

to accept this male, nowke would with open arms.

to deny him, he would help run him from the rise and ensure he did not return.