Emberwood If text kisses were real kisses, the world would be an orgy

The man that approached was vaguely familiar, though Pygmalion hadn't seen him in a while. He'd been present at the founding howl, to Pyg's recollection. The scent of Bhediya upon his pelt was slightly disconcerting—but he reminded himself that his mate was leadership, duty-bound to welcome all into the fold of Uaine Gorsedd. Not a cause for concern (yet?).

Seems to be a fucker-free zone here, Pyg replied, then added, with a boyish, bawdy smirk, for now, at least. Aye, I dinna think we did ever meet. I'm Pygmalion—and you? I remember ye from when the pack was newer.

So often wolves came and went in groups not connected by blood, but this pack seemed fairly stable. Not many had disappeared, and far more had stayed since its inception. They had created their own little family here in the Emberwood, lack of blood ties be damned. That was good.