“Willows,” Veho grunted, ears flattening against his broad skull. While his personal experience with the wolves of the willow trees were limited, they were not good. These wolves had made a personal vendetta against those of Grizzly Hollow for reasons that far predated Veho and his leadership. Perhaps he would need to pay them a visit sometime in the future.

Oula’s health, however, was a far more urgent matter. While Wacipi’s own well-being was a relief, he did but wonder why the older female had trekked out on a hunt alone. But that was a question for another time. Glancing over at the other alpha, he gave a slow nod. She was correct. “We must inform the others to beware of these wolves – and we must strengthen our own borders lest they think themselves above pack law.” He huffed, chewing on his lower lip. They couldn’t avoid their neighbors forever, but some naïve part of the man had hoped it wouldn’t come to conflict like this.

“Oula, I would like to at least clean your wounds. They may not be much, but if the woman were than unhinged, I daresay we don’t put our trust in her personal hygiene habits,” the male grunted, reaching forward to nudge the warborn wolf towards his medical den. He then turned his attention to Wacipi. “I trust you could make note of this to the others while I tend to her wounds?”