Lachesis had confined himself to the Driftwood territory during the weeks following the birth of his children. He would occasionally make quick trips out to the lake, usually to catch a fish or two, before returning back to the heart of the territory. He also tried to keep track of the coyote scents that lingered around; he had not confronted one himself yet, but he had heard their call from the shores of Turtleback. Which meant they were close. He knew that the children would have to be watched more frequently as they grew bolder; any trips to the edge of the Surge would require supervision. He knew that Lilya would likely want to return to her leadership duties as soon as she was able, which meant the rest of the pack would have to step up to ensure that the cubs were protected. He hoped that the coyotes were a phase—that they would move on once they realized there was not enough food for both them and the wolves.
He lingered close to the river that cut through the territory, moving expertly over the pebble-ridden bank as he followed it east. He’d just left the birthing den to relieve his mate from mother-duty for a few hours. For him, they had nestled tightly against the back of the den, only stirring to change positions or to (gently) shove each other out of the way. Which worked out in Lachesis’ favour, as he had needed a few moments of rest. However, as soon as the tired sparrow returned, the three Stark’s sprang to life and started fumbling over each other. He’d departed with an apologetic grin as he disappeared into the trees, but he wouldn’t be gone for long. It was difficult for the father to stay away too long.
As he maneuvered along the river he caught a glimpse of ashen fur, his ears perking in interest. He woofed a quiet greeting to the young male, his features smooth as he padded toward him.