“‘Cos I like it.”

For a moment, just a moment, Theo Tainn liked to think that maybe one of those spirit-things his mama seemed to fancy were talking to him. She never really explained. Not that she had the time to, not really. But Theo lifted his head and found a pair of bright orange eyes staring right back at him. The green-eyed boy blinked owlishly, his tail giving a tiny wag when he realized the other wolf seemed to be roughly the same age as him.

“‘Cos it’s quiet, too. Iunno. I like the snow better than the trees, I guess. The dead wolves are in the trees. But it’s quiet here.”

“Oh. You must have some good trees, then.”

As far as Mathéo could tell, it seemed pretty usual for other wolves to drop dead as the seasons turned. The adults were surely sad when his mother died, but none of them seemed that surprised. They had a place to bury her, were several others were buried first. You didn’t just collect dead wolves for no reason. Her next question shook him free from contemplation.

“Hm? Oh – I’m from Hearthwood River. A little north ways of here, where the red trees grow very tall and a river runs through it.”

And the dead wolves sleep.

“Are you from ‘round here? Cyril said he lived by himself, so…”

And she didn’t smell like Aleksei or the Rye.

“Oh. Shallow’s Edge? Never heard of it. What’s that like?”

Cyril’s rock had seemed kind of weird – not the kind of thing Mathéo wanted to live under (or on top of). He liked the cold, but the wind was a bit much. He wasn’t exactly sure what a Shallow’s Edge was, though – probably not a puddle, though that was the only thing that came to mind at that particular moment.

The invitation though, that certainly got his wheels turning… He wasn’t sure if he really deserved it, only just meeting the other pup, but it seemed more interesting than going to the Rye Fields. Aleksei was there, but he really didn’t know his brother. Theo didn’t know anyone, not really.

“Are the wolves sad there?”

"Oh… That sounds nice."

He liked Turtleback Lake. He liked the running river too, of course, but there was something about the still pools he found appealing. The trees keeping out nosy wolves sounded even better, though. The redwoods were massive, but the canopy was so high, it did little to hide the wolves living inside the forest.

But Hawthorne had told him freely and without hesitation, so Mathéo felt obligated to do the same. He hummed, nodding slowly. "Yes. Many wolves died. My mama. The alpha's first mate. Others went missing. The adults just seem very…sad. When they are not, it's very loud. Chaotic. I prefer the quiet, the snow." He gave a tiny smile. That was how she had stumbled upon him in the first place. "One time I went to the rye fields, but I didn't like it so much. I am not sure what I like, maybe?"