Don't Cry Snowman

“It’s a rank for warriors in this pack.” He explained calmly. “Your pack.” He was after all a member and had more of a right to these lands than others as the soil he was born on. “Unless you’d rather spring on food for your sisters.” He added. “Then you’d be a game officer.”

“Right now you’re a youngling, but when you’re big and strong you’ll be able to hold a rank. Maybe even my rank.” He added teasingly. He supposed anything was possible, and longing after Bass’s rank in Abaven had been the prelude to a life fit for leadership. He would never swear loyalty to Bass again, assuming the old man was even still alive, but perhaps this child would grow to love him the way he had once loved the white male.