The waning moon was as high as it would get in the night before it began its descent, and it filtered lazily behind the sparse clouds. It was not anywhere near as bright as it normally was with a full moon, but not as dark as a new one. This was the time of night that Viorel preferred, it was quiet and his dark coat allowed him some extra camouflage. Other, more serious wolves would have used this alone time to be productive, but the leader was usually goofing off instead. Most nights with Vanadis, but tonight he had yet to run across her trail and was beginning to think maybe she had gone to sleep with the children.
He had given up on thinking that the white woman was lying in wait to go on an adventure with him. Viorel was heading for the border. He was wide awake, and if he joined one of his litters. But his tossing and turning would only keep them up. Tracing the creek as it wound in and out of their territory, the yellow eyes were trained on its bank. Squinting into the distance he picked up the fragile frame of Walleye and slowed his steps. He was not particularly close with the old man who was a friend of his mother’s, and wasn’t sure that approaching him in the middle of the night would remedy that.
Chuffing a greeting, and ready to move on quickly if Walleye was asleep, Viorel waited for some kind of response.