Swiftcurrent Creek Blackfish

Set tomorrow morning. He’s on the border.

Swordfish was weary beyond measure. His paws felt as though they had been torn by the elements.

It was upon a stranger’s border that he was forced to slow his pace and breathe. The heavy-lidded stare shifted over their claimed territory. It was so unlike the cliffs. He had not noted the scent of prey, but he had managed to catch a few fish between the herbalist’s cache and the creekside pack where he watched.

The young wolf was worried that he might be too close, that someone might come looking. As he looked back to his journeyed path, he realized that he had walked many miles. There would be no trail for them to follow. And he knew how to keep himself from being found.

A quiet howl was made to anyone who might be near the edge of the claim.