Sunspire Mountains Back in my hometown

The wolf was very talkative! Dusty listened attentively to the tale, a little shocked by the cold-hearted turn of events. Of course, “ ... My sire ate the runt,” he shared, even though this was something he’d usually keep to himself. “It was an accident, though. Sort of.”

Dusty didn’t know much more about the story than that. He remembered, just vaguely, that Wildflower had been fussing, and then suddenly he hadn’t. And he remembered the smell and taste of blood in the den for days afterward, and that the flower eater had regurgitated something for them to eat that day. As for the why and the how of it, he didn’t know. The flower eater went very quiet and cool in the eyes when Dusty and his siblings tried to ask him about it, and Dad wouldn't hear it spoken of without swift reproof.

“I’m not really a loner,” he tried to explain. “I’m just kinna exploring. Seein’ what all’s out here.” And, y’know. That left him sort of alone. But that wasn’t his role so much as a present circumstance, and anyway, “Neither of us are alone right now,” he pointed out, now comfortably past his initial wariness. He made a sudden move, tapping the ground with his front paws in a bow more challenging than playful.

“You wanna wrestle?” he asked, his tone suggesting that an answer in the negative would make Shey very yellow indeed.