Swiftcurrent Creek You packed your bags full of letting go.

‘Snow man,’ the youthful man shot to his brother—Akavir’s eye skimmed over the frosty countenance of his brother. It was an apt description—but maybe lacked some imagination. His lips pulled at the faintest grin as his eyebrows raised, sidestepping past the Bearclaw wolf to settle in silent fortitude alongside Viinturuth.

“We’ll make sure the to-be mothers in the Creek speak a word of gratitude for your magnanimous generosity and contribution,” he gleaned with a sharp tongue—though amusement flickered in his eyes.

Youthful. Brazen. Stubborn. He was reminded of himself in his younger days—though early fatherhood had changed much of that. At the direct question, Akavir cast a lazy sideways glance to his brother. A complete contrast from one another—one cloaked in black and one in white. One bore eyes of mahogany, the other a soft champagne.

The Frostfur lineage of silver was likely what stood out the most. “‘Snow man’ here is my brother,” he confirmed, gaze drifting back to the other man. “Try not to hold it against him.”