Deepwood Weald krymménos

Vorilye's pale gaze fell to his son as the other male spoke of the boy tracking him. A small smile formed on his muzzle, only for his son's eyes. "Good job, son," the Cruor man murmured, gently pressing his muzzle to the boy's forehead.

The stranger spoke more; he was debating which pack to join. Vorilye nodded, and when the male introduced himself, the Cruor man replied, "I do not give my name to strangers. But this is the pack's new territory, and as you've seen, we have young here." Vorilye didn't like the thought of strangers roaming their territory. Still, he remained unaggressive, if still guarded. His claws flexed into the soil, and he took a deep breath. "How long will you remain in the area?"