Partly cloudy, 28F, fresh snowfall the day prior.
Winter was coming, and the pack caches weren’t quite as full as the male would have liked. He wasn’t a hunter, it wasn’t his job, but Maksim had been critically injured and most resources had been dedicated to assisting the Baranski lord in any way possible. Except, ah, yes – in this crippled state, the large male was not quite as high and mighty as he used to be. It allowed Kjors to move around freely, without worry he was constantly under scrutiny. After all, the head medic was always at his patient’s side, and Karpos was doing his best to keep the pack from falling apart when thrust to its head.
A bit ridiculous, the man thought, to allow an untested male only just turned of age, to take the reins of a pack under a year old itself.
Alas, he was hardly in the position to say much – it would be seen as a challenge or unrest – the one-eyed dragon was not looking to start a rebellion, not yet. Instead, he would continue to do as he’d done in the past months. He would make sure he wanted for nothing, that Karina was looked after to the best of his ability, and that Kisla and her pack did not want for much. It was about the Queen, when he was honest with himself, but he had little interest in doing such a thing.
Lifting his dark snout to the sky, he issued a howl, summoning any pack member within hearing range. There was a caribou herd just outside their forest, and if enough wolves joined him, he had no doubt they’d be able to stuff their caches to the brim.