Hoshor Plains in new york, you can be a new man

@Keelut -- I tried to make it as "in the middle" (from Jade Fern Grove to Silvertip) as possible!

The settlement had commenced; now the evangelizing must begin. Phocion, confident that Cortland was in good hands with Poet during his little journeys off the mountain, traveled farther and farther with each trip, going deep into the valley on this day. He hugged the mountains, casting a dark glance at the place where Cortland had fell before going farther south, onto the plains.

It was warm, and green, and there was good hunting to be had, if you got lucky--herds of ungulates roamed, fat and healthy, and the streams were full of fish. The white priest trotted happily along, eyes trained for strangers. Food wouldn't come amiss, but it was wolves he was looking for. . .wolves for Argyros.

It was the name the tribe had called Silvertip, when he'd first described it to them in his stories. It had stuck with him ever since, and he used the terms interchangeably, keeping his lore close to his heart but not wanting to forget the legacy of all who had come before--Steady. Zaria. Krypton. It had been Silvertip to them, so it would be Silvertip to him always.

But his tribe would be Argyros. That was settled.

He had told Poet bits and pieces, knowing how resistant she was to the idea of religion. He had vowed from her arrival that he would not push her into anything, that he was happy with her presence there, no strings attached. As for Cortland, Phocion had been too concerned about his injuries to focus on any sort of conversion. If it did come soon, he'd be overjoyed. If not. . .he found joy in the fact that his friend was even alive, right now.

He found joy in a lot of things, these days. Phocion skipped along almost ludicrously, letting out a blissful chuckle. If anything, perhaps they'd approach a wolf who embodied that joy, stars in his eyes.