Silvertip Mountain after dark

Tonravik's body language spoke clearly; this wolf was pack. Skyfall didn't move closer, however, when he saw the creature slink back toward the wall behind it, and cower there. Instead, he seated himself where he stood and began to tear into one of his fish. Skyfall often put the feelings of others before himself, something his mother taught him from a very young age, and today was no different. He would eat his own catch and let Tonravik and the slinky black wolf help themselves to the goat. There would be plenty to butcher and carry down the mountain to his cache later.

As he ate, Skyfall kept his eyes carefully, yet curiously, on the stranger. He trusted Tonravik when she made it clear he was pack, but that didn't mean Skyfall had to trust the wolf completely. It was young, and its scent was a strange mix of male, and yet not male. It baffled Skyfall, but he didn't mention it; that was something he would mull over later, or ask Tonravik about in private. Once he was about halfway through with the first fish, he grabbed the second and flung it halfway between himself and the small dark wolf, the nameless hunter, as an offering. If they were going to be pack, Skyfall would have to get used to sharing.