Greer was beginning to realize how big the lowlands truly were as he scoured the tundra for somewhere—anywhere—that would be suitable to place the newcomers at, as instructed by his sister. Somewhere close but not too close. An extension of the monadnock but far enough that these newcomers, these heathens, could not disturb the Whitestone wolves. More specifically, Morganna and her children. But Craw did not have to know that. The silver spider just had to know that the monadnock was already growing crowded with their growing numbers, and if they wanted to continue growing (and take over the tundra, or whatever) they would have to expand their territory.

Veering too close to the forest worried him, for the Rye wolves were already dangerously close to their home, and he did not want to step on the toes of the river wolves. A frown creased his dark features as he meandered through the snow-dusted tundra. He wondered if Capable had found anything during her travels. His frown only deepened as he made a mental note to seek her out to see what she had stumbled upon. The shadow preferred to work alone and not talk to anyone, including his packmates, but for his sister sometimes he had to make exceptions. The boy grunted at the thought, rolling his eyes to himself as he kicked at the snow, his pace quickening.

As he neared the frozen pond his deer-like legs slowed, brows knitting together as he padded, quietly, to the frozen edge. Greer was puzzled by what the pack’s healer was doing but his lips remained tight as he watched in silent amusement, his head cocked slightly to the side. He could offer to help but it looked like Lorcán had everything under control. 

For a fleeting moment the Archer considered offering to help his packmate, but quickly dismissed the thought and remained where he was. It appeared that Lorcán wanted no help from the shadow, so he bit his tongue, his mercury gaze fixated on the agouti healer. Greer was enthralled by the older male’s determination, his head tilted slightly to the side. Regardless of the fox’s frozen state, it was unwise to turn away any food, even if it required some thawing. Despite the ache in his own stomach, the shadow was not keen on fighting over food. A little digging around and he would be able to find his own meal without having to steal it from his packmate.

After pulling on the corpse a few more times the fox was released from his icy grave. Impressed, the corners of his lips curled softly, a line forming in his forehead as he studied the tawny wolf. Lorcán made it very obvious that he was not willing to share. While Greer wanted to protest and declare that he bring it back to the Whitestone cache, he remained tight-lipped. The healer had worked hard for his meal and he did not want to take it away from him, no matter how hungry he or the rest of Whitestone may be.

His paws shuffled uncomfortably beneath him, his pointed maw angled upward as his silver gaze remained focused on his packmate. With his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth he unfolded himself from the ground, his forelegs stretching out before him as he took a hesitant step away from the agouti. Now that he had seen the older male succeed in getting his meal from its icy grave there was no longer a reason for him to stay—especially since he was not in the sharing mood. Greer would find his own meal, elsewhere, without another present. He was sure that Lorcán did not need an audience while he consumed his prize.

Hunger clawed desperately at his own stomach, for winter had not been kind to the herds in the lowlands, but he did not want to challenge the healer for his meal. After working that hard for a frozen dinner, Lorcán deserved every bite. No matter how hungry he was, the shadow determined it was not worth the fight. Despite his higher rank, the shadow was not in the mood for flashing teeth and arching his back. He could scavenge something for himself without having to steal it from his packmate. He did not want to upset his sister by creating tension between packmates. Things were already tense enough with some of Craw’s former packmates lurking around.

His skin crawled at the thought of them as he threw his chin over his shoulder, shooting the agouti another look. Initially the healer had shown some of his pearly whites, his lips curling back to reveal a snarl, but it quickly dissipated once he realized that Greer was leaving, not attacking. His hackles rose at the older male’s reaction, his own nose curling in response as a low growl hummed in his chest. But, instead of facing the healer he continued stepping away, his nose raised slightly to see if he could catch a scent he could sink his teeth into. One that did not belong to a packmate. He did not want to fight, whether it was over a meal or a rank, Greer was not interested. Not today.

Greer knew that he could do his job efficiently regardless of where he stood in the Whitestone ranks, which was why he did not challenge the healer. He also did not want to anger his sister, who had dismissed a Whitestone wolf due to a rank challenge that turned violent. So, without hesitation, the shadow continued forward, his shoulders sagging slightly as he maneuvered over the frozen ground. He would leave Lorcán to his meal and find one of his own, because sparking an unnecessary fight was the last thing he wanted. First, he would find something to satisfy the growl of hunger in his stomach, and then would seek out his sister to keep her updated on what had happened. Leaving the willows with his older sister had brought them unexpectedly closer, which he was grateful for. He had felt suffocated beneath the swell of Willow Ridge, feeling inadequate and unimportant. Moving north, to the lowlands, had allowed Greer to discover a purpose for himself. He would be forever grateful to his sister (and Craw) for giving him the opportunity to join them.

He dismissed the agouti healer with a sharp wag of his tail before he broke off running, putting as much space between him and the older wolf as possible.