It was odd.

Something wasn’t keeping Aleksei tethered to Wild Rye Field’s borders. In fact, there was something that made him want to press out, head high as he strode through the lowlands. Had there really ever been anything keeping him within the confines of the territory markers? Perhaps Askan and Reyes, yes, but they were long gone now. There was a strange tug at his heart, a pull that made his lips purse into a tight frown.

There was nothing wrong with the fields. He owed a lot to Drestig and Jessie—they had let him in, after all, without knowing if it might upset their alliance with Hearthwood River. He was grateful for their kindness, and their leadership.

Well … no, actually, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. He struggled with it. Really struggled. Not knowing what to do, or how to treat the leaders when they were so lax with dominance displays. It threw him for a constant loop, and he wasn’t sure how far the line between alpha and simple pack mate could be pushed before it hit a point where it couldn’t be both. It just wasn’t in his nature.

Perhaps he was overthinking things—it wouldn’t be a surprise if he were—and simply needed to relax. Or, maybe a wolf like him would never really belong in the fields, with the lazy golden sun rays and warm summer afternoons. Perhaps a wolf like Aleksei Baranski deserved a damp forest, with little sunlight and eerie winds that caused the branches to creak.

Huffing a sigh, he shook his head. Enough of that, he told himself. You came out here for a breather, not to wind yourself up any more. Lifting his crown once more, he caught the figure of another against the grey of the tundra. Just the kind of distraction he needed from his rapidly spiralling thoughts. He altered his course, slowly approaching the stranger as he called out to them.

“Grim weather, huh?”