This is backdated to March 30th. Hello, I am your scout.
image modified from here
The trek west was one he took on foot. Max had intended to bring one of the horses, but Oblak was heavy with foal and the other mare was even heavier. So he took to his lupus shape and traveled with the endless gait of his father’s blood—the dog within him was one made for tundra, and while spring was all around them, the distance was a welcomed thing. His pace was an easy lope, head and tail an even line with his spine. The entirety of the trip took less than three hours at this pace.
Ezekiel’s orders had been simple, though Max was equally suspicious of this pack. While the Aquila seemed friendly with them, he recalled hearing that both Helotes and Zana had been attacked by their members. Still, in the long run, he understood the motives for having an ally. Anathema was not to be trusted, and the northern pack had made it very clear what they thought of coyotes. This only irritated Max, who found the unwarranted aggression familiar.
The river reached before him, forming the border Ezekiel had mentioned. After drinking deeply of the cold water, Max settled back and lifted his head in a deep doggish howl.
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