The agouti Leigh Selwyn kept his distance from the rushing water, as it was abnormally fast as it cut through the territory. While the snow was still present in most areas it had finally begun to subside. The melt, however, had caused water levels to rise, making his trek along the rush far more dangerous than it usually was. He made sure to steer clear of the edge of the river, his nose hanging inches above the ground as he tracked the stale scent of rabbit. Prey had become scarce; a result of the elongated winter, Sachiel hoped. He hated returning to the shallows with nothing hanging from his jaws. Most of his treks beyond the borders, however, were productive. Scouting. Tracking. Lurking. Returning with information was almost as good as returning with food.

His ears remained cupped forward as his tail flicked absently behind him. He wasn’t going to let a stranger—or a packmate—sneak up on him. If he couldn’t pay attention to his surroundings at nearly a year old then what good was he? A crooked, amused smile rolled onto his pale maw as he continued along the river, heading south into the lush forest. He had no intentions of returning to the Edge until the sun began to fall below the horizon. Sachiel didn’t mind having some time to himself, away from the shallows (and the wolves within). They were his family—more so than his own parents—but the newly dubbed Selwyn enjoyed being on his own, too. It gave him more time to focus on the colours, as everything was so jumbled within the pack territory. Shades of red, orange, and vibrant yellow; it was all loud and go! go! go! The forest beyond was softer; brilliant shades of emerald and cerulean.

There was a new member within their ranks—another cub. Well, almost yearling, but she followed Cancer around like a love-sick puppy so, to Sachiel, she was as good as a cub. He wondered what his peppered friend thought of the newcomer and what type of shenanigans she was getting herself into while he trailed the rush south…

The familiar scent made his nose twitch; he seemed to be developing a habit of bumping into the Driftwood wolves. But so far from their territory… had something happened within their borders that was driving them south? It was possible that the stranger was a scout, or a friend. The Surge wolves were rather chummy with the Edge; a result of the bromance friendship between their leaders. But there was something else on the wind—the stench of food accompanied by a scent Sachiel did not recognize. Or scents, as there was more than one creature carrying the same feral stink. His tail twitched nervously as the Driftwood boy addressed him, tossing a question in his direction. However, before he got a chance to answer, his peppered companion made an appearance with a foreign name tumbling off the tip of her tongue. Mathéo. His mismatched eyes narrowed into a soft squint as he studied the stranger, his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth.

Once more his words were hindered as a strange sound ripped through the air. An angry, pissed off sound. He took a cautious step toward his pumpkin-eyed friend, his hackles rising as the large of the three creatures took a bold step in their direction. Uh, he started, his worried gaze flicking between his two age-mates, y’think we should try chasin’ them off? There were three of them but there were also three of the mangy mutts. Sachiel had never encountered one before; he did not know what to expect.