Time for trade

He saw the way she stiffened, and thought he too could recognise the signs now. He said nothing, just moved a paw lightly over hers to remind her that he was there. He gave her a moment to work through it, and it did seem that it didn't hit her as hard this time. She gave him a slight explanation, but he could read between the lines. He'd heard enough by now to realise her last pack hadn't deserved her. “I haven't met a drunk.” He said, voice deceptively calm. 

“I'll not settle for any drunks in the Armada. We are a pack that keeps our wits about us.” He explained to her. Just the occasional swipe, an exploration In his youth. 

He nodded his head as she spoke of sketches and calving. He'd leave that work to her and Charlie. He wasn't the crafter his grandfather had been.