Things had been oddly quiet since the blatant trespassing of Driftwood onto the northern pack’s borders and the hysteria that it had caused. They had not been much of a disturbance but Lachesis figured the appearance of coyotes was the cause of that. They did not seem like the respectful type and would surely do something to disrupt the balance. Lachesis still wanted nothing to do with them or their presence at the lake. They had settled less than a day’s travel away from Driftwood while knowing that they were infringing on another pack’s hunting grounds. Hell, one of their former members was a part of the thick-skulled group who knew that Driftwood used the northern woods as their hunting grounds and knew that they would not react fondly to the appearance of another pack. They deserved whatever came their way. Lachesis was not fond of morons.
He trailed along the southern edge of the lake, his ears pinned high above his crown as his tail flicked idly behind him. For now the pack remained stable and safe—that was all that mattered to the Stark. He would do whatever necessary to keep his subordinates and his family safe. The river wolves had already endured enough; they would not be moving a third time. Driftwood would be their home for as long as the Stark king remained alive—he would make sure of that.