His visit to the borders of Wild Rye was long overdue. Winter had refused to leave, only growing stronger as the days passed, and Lachesis worried that he would never be able to collect the herbs he needed. With three mothers to worry about this spring his anxiety was at an all-time high, and Lachesis was running low on herbs to calm him down as well. The alabaster healer could only handle so much stress until he finally cracked. He couldn’t risk losing his marbles, or pebbles—whatever—when puppies would arrive in a few weeks… The thought made him groan as he maneuvered through the snow-dusted tundra, his long legs carrying him quickly over the frozen terrain.

The sun had greeted him this morning and not wanting to waste the good weather, Lachesis headed west. He had only ventured close to the Rye borders once before, and that was with a Whitestone wolf at his side. Fortunately the pair had not been seen together, for he knew that relations between the monadnock and the fields were not good. With the sudden change in leadership Lachesis was unsure what to think of their alliance with the northern pack. He respected both Wraith and Piety but after the his blue-eyed sparrow had been attacked by one of their members, he was not sure if he could trust them. They had been both surprised and infuriated by the attack, as well, but the Stark was unsure of Craw had ordered the attack before his absence. It did seem rather coincidental that the silver spider and the dark Archer had fled the lowlands prior to Lilya getting attacked.

He dismissed the thoughts as the fields came into view, stalks of rye threatening to poke through the layers of snow that blanketed the lowlands. As his pace slowed the Alpha threw his nose to the sky and called for the charcoal wolf he had not seen in nearly two months. The ghost welcomed the warmth of the sun on his back, but he did not know if the sudden bout of sunshine was going to be enough to find herbs hidden beneath the snow. It was worth a shot.

He dared not venture too close to the Wild Rye borders, for he was unsure of whether Askan was lurking around. There was a chance he could be greeted by another and he did not want to step on toes. Lachesis was trying to establish, and maintain, a relationship with their southern neighbours. Infringing upon their borders would not go over well.

It had been quite some time since the ghost had someone to collect herbs with. First it had been Karpos, his sort of nephew and the closest thing Lachesis had to a brother. After the Slayer child left the lands of Lore to forge his own future Maksim’s daughter had become his apprentice, eager and willing to please. She had been a fast leaner and seemed to devour the information that Lachesis fed her. However, the one-eyed dragon had tainted her mind with strange fables and Karina quickly lost interest in the medical field. At least, by his methods. She had grown intrigued by Kjors’ words, allowing herself to be consumed by his stories before she abandoned her family. His daughter, Atropos, had taken the Baranski’s place once her baby blues adjusted to the outside world and she no longer tripped over her paws. If it had not been for her brother chasing after his former apprentice the little Stark would have still been helping him, but she had assured XIX that she would return with  Kyrios. As the months passed after her departure the ghost was beginning she would return anytime soon. Perhaps she, too, had been poisoned by the same stories that had possessed Karina and his son.

While he had both Emrys and Lorcán to assist him now, although the former was much further than the latter, he would not objet to another set of eyes. Teaming up with the espresso-coloured Rye wolf was not only beneficial to their alliance, but also for Lachesis’ mental state. Despite being the leader of Hearthwood he was still a recluse, keeping to himself and busying himself with his duties. The blue-eyed sparrow was always an ideal distraction, but in her current state he could not steal her away from the depths of the Kingswood whenever he pleased.

The ghost was not kept waiting long—the dark shape of Askan streaked toward him, a blemish against the snow. His tail wagged slowly behind him, a soft smile rolling onto his dark lips as the Guardian approached. What brings you to my neck of the woods? “I know the weather might not be ideal,” he started with a grunt as he motioned to the snow with his nose, brows narrowing, “but I thought we might try to collect some of that sweet grass I was telling you about. I don’t know about Wild Rye, but Hearthwood’s got three litters to tend to this spring.” 

The expression the dark wolf wore earned a chuckle from the lanky ghost, his chartreuse eyes crinkling in amusement. If it had been his choice the river would only be having one litter to tend to this year—maybe two. Unfortunately all three litters had been unplanned, even his own. It was not his place to ask who fathered the children of the Baranski’s and as long as they did not interfere with the river wolves, Lachesis did not care. These pups, regardless of how they were brought into the Lore, were still the future of Hearthwood. He would do whatever was necessary to preserve their futures.

“Tell me about it,” the ghost responded as he rolled his eyes, a soft smile rolling onto his dark lips. He was pleased to hear that the Rye wolves were expecting a litter of their own; it appeared all the packs in the north would be flourishing this spring. “I’d much rather be in your position, I think,” he offered with a sharp wink, his tail swaying gently behind him. What happened between him and the blue-eyed sparrow had been unexpected but he was not upset, or angry, with their unplanned situation. Nervous, definitely, and maybe even a little excited. But he certainly did not regret it.

A grimace rolled onto his pale features at Askan’s mention of snow, his tail flicking in irritation. Even the Arctic had grown weary of the cold temperatures. “Doesn’t hurt to look,” he suggested with a shrug, his peridots focused on the dark wolf before him. “It’s more common around creeks, which means less snow… hopefully.” He flashed the charcoal wolf a dinkum smile, hoping that Askan would join him on his hunt for the herb. The ghost knew he was capable of finding it on his own, but he wouldn’t mind the company.

The ghost was beginning to regret his previous negative feelings about the Rye wolves. It seemed the silver spider on the rock had influenced his thoughts on the newcomers, although he had also been wary of their presence prior to Craw’s opinions. However, he know was concerned about his friendship with the former leader of Whitestone. Had the spider been using Lachesis to gain numbers in case they needed to chase Wild Rye from the north? His lips tightened into a thin line at the thought. Maksim had always done well in ensuring the river wolves remained neutral and XIX wanted to do the same. Conflict did not interest him; neither did war.

Craw’s absence concerned him. It had been one of his wolves that attacked Lilya—had he ordered the attack before his departure? Wraith was equally as furious as Lachesis had been; therefore, the ghost knew that the ebony male had nothing to do with the unexpected violence. If the silver spider returned XIX was not sure if he wanted to restore the relationship they had forged, for he no longer knew if he could trust the former Whitestone king.

A soft smile cracked his lips as the espresso-coloured wolf spoke. “We’re sure gonna try,” he chuckled in response, his ears twitching as Askan went on to say that almost all of the river wolves were good. He was not surprised to hear Aytigin’s name rolling off the younger male’s tongue, but he was certainly annoyed to hear that the newest river wolf was already bothering the neighbours. Especially with neighbours that Lachesis was trying to create an alliance with. He gave a loud snort in frustration, his brows pinched together. “I apologize for whatever it was that he did,” he responded once he digested Askan’s honesty, his toes curling into the snow: “He certainly is something.” He did not try to remove the venom from his words; testing pack relations did not sit well with the pale healer. The Baranski women had been trusting in giving the large wolf a chance to prove himself in Hearthwood whereas Lorcán and the ghost were a little more cautious, unsure of whether the chatty wolf could be of use to them.

Casting his thoughts to the side Lachesis followed Askan in the direction he had gestured to, his tail swaying gently behind him. “Of course,” he chirped, his features softening. “Do you have any healers in Wild Rye?” He asked, his curiosity spiking as he glanced at the chocolate wolf out of the corner of his eye. He had not encountered too many of Askan’s packmates; if they had a healer he would like to get to know the wolf (and potentially strengthen the packs’ relationship even more).

Thinking about the newest addition to Hearthwood encountering the golden-eyed wolf both amused and frustrated the Arctic. His brows narrowed at the thought, his lips dropping into a thin, hard line. He knew that Aytigin could be incredibly overbearing, for the chatty wolf did not seem to understand boundaries. Nor did he possess a filter. Lachesis did not doubt that the Rye wolf had put Aytigin in his place, but he was still annoyed that a bad interaction had occurred between the two. The ghost was trying to mend the relationship between the two packs, for Kisla had done most of the work with Wild Rye thus far, and now the big-mouthed self-proclaimed casanova was already creating problems.

The ebony male’s next set of words earned a snort of amusement from the Stark, his eyes rolling. “Why do you think my fur is so white?” A crooked smile collapsed onto his dark lips, a single brow arched. “Worrying is what I do best.” His maw canted to the side as Askan spoke once more, dismissing his previous apology. Self-absorbed ass. He snickered. “That’s the nicest way to describe him.” He did not necessarily dislike Aytigin, but he wasn’t exactly fond of him either. The massive wolf was a hard-worker and was trying to prove his worth to both Lachesis and the rest of Hearthwood—so, for that, XIX commended him. Aytigin did not allow any sour feelings toward him drag him down and he was eager to please, even if he talked too much.

He mirrored the espresso-coloured wolf’s pace as he followed him through the Rye territory, his chartreuse eyes drinking in the new surroundings. The snow was an eye sore, for he wished to see the brilliant colours of the fields during their prime, but he did not mind. All the more reason to return once winter finally released its hold on the Lore. As they padded parallel to the creek Lachesis averted his gaze away from the darker wolf, searching for little white flowers among the grass that sprouted through the snow. His ears twitched as the guardian spoke. “I used to be Hearthwood’s healer before I took over leadership and we just acquired another. If Wild Rye needs anything we’d be happy to help,” he responded nonchalantly, his eyes still searching for the coveted sweet grass. “The sweet grass will help with afterbirth care, but I can bring by some other herbs?” Kisla would appreciate the gesture, for she wanted to forge an alliance with their western neighbours.