Swiftcurrent Creek Blackfish

It seemed the youth was staying—Moss requested his name, and the swarthy man gave pause, eyes still studying the injuries and state of the man. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth a moment—refraining from giving his own name first and then bustling off.

Moss was a solid presence on the border—but he had yet to know how she reacted with her fellow pack-mates, and so when she took over this part of the conversation, the Mayfair was interested to see what else she might add to it—or if the single syllable request was where that ended with her.