Moving, and then moving

The Abaven wolf had stuck around while his leg healed. It had done so nicely, and he reckoned there would hardly be a scar when it was done. Halo clucked about him like a mother hen. Ensuring it was clean, and he didn't over do it. He could have left the Armads any time. His home wasn't far, and his mother likely missed him. He could walk out the border any time he pleased, but for some reason he stayed. The days blended together, and he stayed in Halos little den in a guest room. He got accustomed to the sounds of her den. The little whispers of her hanging herbs when the door opened, letting in the wind. The scraaaaaaaape the workbench made when she moved it about her den. The little ways she teased and chastised her companion. Or him.

So despite himself, he stayed well past his welcome. And then the Warlord announced the packs move, and he was left with a choice. Yet still he delayed. He let Halo press him into service, loading up the cart Mortis had parked out their - her - door. He eyed the sixth package dubiously. How much stuff did she have? "Where are you getting all this stuff from? How did you fit it all in here?" He asked, wondering if she was pulling his leg.