Swiftcurrent Creek aim; it's a one shot take down

She held him—he waited. She considered—he could feel it in the uncertainty of her muscles if for only a moment, and then her forehead was pressed to him. Forgiveness, perhaps, but least of all it was camaraderie, which was what he craved from all of his pack mates. The creek would grow to be tight-knit—to trust one another.

And so his own rumble was released, as if it were a purr. And so he remained—his own breaths soft, the chill of the winter air stinging far less now than it had moments before as the frost between the two seemed to deteriorate.