Blood in the Cut

The falls butted directly against Abaven’s territory carrying the scent of the pack to him as he stood beside the raging river. He could no longer scent Sparrow, and the scent of Bass’s get had long since faded. Strange. For as long as he had lived he had always believed the pack belonged to Bass and Bass alone, having never been taught otherwise. He would have to investigate further. Eventually. For now he continued to collect possible territories to house the Praetor empire. The Empire that would have been if his traitorous family had stayed long enough to back him.

He huffed dejectedly as rage roiled in him again. Acere for all his bravado had taken Elias’s children to gods knew where. He supposed that simply meant his own heir would have little competition, more over, it meant he could break away from troublesome bloodlines and focus instead on creating an empire of strong wolves. “As if that worked so well before.” He swatted a rock out of his path at the thought, a snarl climbing up his muzzle.  

Speaking  Thinking  You