Bearclaw Valley we know the way

His howl did not go unanswered: soon another wolf materialized, white-pelted like him, but much larger. The stranger questioned him in a flat, brusque tone, and Phocion resisted a flippant flick of the ear in response--surely this man could have summoned a better attitude for a guest? Instead, he gave him a small, close-lipped smile in return, his voice soft and measured when he spoke.

"Phocion," he introduced himself, with a small bow of the head. "I saw this place in the mountains and was. . .charmed by it. I came to explore it, then found scent markings at this border. Does your pack claim this land?"

He still wasn't sold on the idea of giving himself to a pack that wasn't his own, that didn't follow the Truth. He had come to Teekon hoping to recruit, to lead, not to be sucked into another situation like Silvertip. Phocion had been younger then, more eager to please and easy to sway. Not quite so, now.

But winter was in full stride, with the solstice just several nights away, and it would do him well to become a part of something bigger than himself. Alone, Phocion seemed destined to feast on small game and carrion; his small, lithe frame could not take down a large beast alone. With a pack, he would dine well, and keep good company.

He stood, his gaze neutral as he waited for the other's response.