The sun had climbed upward past the tall trees now – basking the woods of the river wolves with faint warmth as the icy grasp of winter finally began to recede. The she-wolf stood before the heart of the home she and Maksim had claimed so many moons ago – her eyes considering the den entrance. They had birthed their last litter here, and as her eyes trailed over the familiar features of the den, she recalled as if it were yesterday – Inna and Lekalta, tumbling about the den entrance. Maksim had told them many stories by the river’s edge – beneath the faint moonlight and stars before the parents would tuck their children in to bed.
Her heart ached at the thought, and she felt her regal figure sag beneath the sorrow that washed over her. It hit her in waves – there had been no dulling of losing her soul mate, and readily, she realized she could no longer use this den. Not for cubs that were not of Baranski blood.
Turning, the river matriarch began to amble toward a small clearing in the woods – her muzzle tilted upward and she called for her pack mates to gather – it was time for them to come together as a pack and show that with their numbers, they could certainly care for three litters this year. Hearthwood River was a powerful unit – and they would prove it.
sparking up my heart