He flashed her a small smile, his maw angled to the side as he observed his silver sister. She really did remind him of their mother; he was grateful that his birth pack was in her paws. There was no one he trusted more to lead the empire their mother had left behind. If the willows were going to survive it was because of Ravenna, not their sour cousin or disgruntled uncle.
Hunting grounds. The shadow nodded. Clearly it was an issue, for Sven felt as though the ridge boundaries extended into the rise, which lay at the base of the heights. Common ground. There was no reason they couldn’t share. It appeared his younger sister shared the same thoughts, and he was thankful that she had put them into words for him. He nodded. Greer agree, he commented, his silver eyes fixated on the pale Archer. Heights wolves mind Ridge borders. Greer make sure. Just because he used to call the slender willows his home did not mean he, or any of his subordinates, could meander through the sinewy trees as they pleased.
Joint hunt, he suggested, his maw angled to the side, smooth tension maybe? He was not sure if Sven would be up to it, but a joint hunt between the two packs might help restore the relationship between the two packs.