Swiftcurrent Creek I am with you.

He hadn’t been back long from his visit to the riverclan. Quiet wolves, he had quietly assessed what it meant to live beside two exceptionally peaceful packs with little desire or means to fight—and then them, who held land at a point of interception from the neighbors behind them.

He wished to discuss this with both Moss and Arric, but all such thoughts fled when the familiar call echoed across the creek lands.

His paws were swift, but not swift enough. A smirk pressed to his lips as he came upon the scene—tension in the air, though one of primary discomfort, it seemed. His brother didn’t seem ruffled, though, and Akavir was quick to step toward the ivory Mayfair. “Gu math, a bhràthair.”


His eyes lifted to Moss, studying the silent wall of a woman. "I can't decide which one of you was likely giving the other the hardest time."