The Warlord took his time patrolling down the beach. The scent of his wolves mixed with the salty tang of the sea, and it reminded of where his pack had been formed. He had loved their past territory, but the move had made sense. It still did, and the Armada had bloomed in the North. It was bigger than it had ever been, and with so many wolves under his command, the Warlord was a busy wolf.
But not so busy as to miss the bright dual eyes of the pup beneath the sand. The pink of her eye gave her away - as well as the form she made over the otherwise flat terrain. He stifled a smile as he angled his patrol on an approach. He would pass but a hair's breadth from where she crouched in the dark sand.
Bloodletter
