The small loner didn’t say anything else, which only made the yearling more uncomfortable as he shuffled awkwardly int he snow. Was… was their meeting over now? Did he leave? He blinked, his tail flicking with uncertainty behind him, his legs poised and ready to depart. But the male’s face lit up once more, an excited hum rolling off his tongue as he introduced himself. Chamomile. Huh. Wasn’t that some sort of plant? But who was Seven to judge—he was the one named after a stupid number. Well, sort of. That had been the name he’d given to himself as the one his mother had provided him with was far to formal sounding. Septimus. Yuck! His mother had been a blessing in his life but his birth name certainly hadn’t. Nice t’meet ya, he offered with a wide smile, m’names Seven. His head tipped to the side once more, his expression tight with youthful curiosity. You plannin’ on stickin’ around?

Made sense. Sometimes Seven wished he had explored a little more before deciding to settle down, but he also didn’t want to keep wandering. Not if he was trying to locate his siblings. The easiest thing to do was stay put and let them find him, otherwise he might never see them again. He was happy in the shallows, with his cousin. The peppered yearling felt a little out of place, but that was mostly because he had kept to himself since his arrival. He liked being a part of the rag tag group.

Well, he started, his chin tipping to the side, I’ve explored most of the north. It’s pretty boring. Flat; barren. Et cetera. Some of the wolves he’d encountered in the north hadn’t been completely awful. In fact, they had been quite informative and steered Seven in the right direction. M’uncle leads a pack up there. But they had moved, hadn’t they? Wasn’t that what he heard through the grapevine? Something-wood. I’d check out the south. There’s another pack south of here. I think. At least, that’s what he had heard as well.