Word Count → 317 · Skoll weakly disapproves!
Skoll was visibly nervous as he stood on the edge of the pack territory. He had listened intently as his tutor instructed him on how to gauge a pack’s strength, but he didn’t know why that would be important—unless one was going to perhaps steal from them, or if it came to war.
He licked his lips, gingery ears pinned flat against his head. He did not relish the thought of war; even though his experience had been limited, he still remembered the hunched shoulders and hard gazes of the pack as they left to do battle with the once-enemy Tribe. The war had taken his daddy away from him, too, even though he had not suffered badly as a result. Now that he was a squire and ready to fight, he was afraid of what another war might mean.
And the coywolf’s dancing back and forth across the border might provoke hostile feelings. Even though her crossing had been brief, the golden boy was still anxious as he padded slowly after her. Stealing from the bear had been one thing, but he was more afraid of luperci than bears. Wolves traveled in packs for good reason.
Terra, Skoll started to call, but he choked off the rest of his whining. She wouldn’t listen even if he started blabbering at her. Instead, he plopped his rear on the ground by a rock and stared intently into the territory, his nostrils flaring as he tested the scent.
The pack was strong, he could tell that much, but he also knew something else about the pack—had met one of its members before. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember his interaction with the warrior-girl and what the place had been called. It started with a C, and it was a place for fighters, trained and strong and probably willing to knock out a certain pesky hybrid.
table by raze; template from the mentors
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