Lykaon had done what he could. He had hunted until his paws ached, and his eyes grew blurry. He had fought the cold hard snow and the deep dark forests. Hares and foxes and small deer, all had fallen at his teeth. Mostly small game, he was only one wolf, but it was more than the wolf Aelia had. It was this thought that had kept him hunting, kept him going. He would not allow an entire pack to fall into oblivion, not if he could help it. He had grown thinner, rangier. But that was to be expected.

On this day he carried rabbits draped over shoulders and in his teeth haunch of fawn. He had taken days to carry what he could from the icy north and the forest. Built caches nearby. Perhaps ten hares, two fawns and many pheasants and other such flighty creatures. Yellow eyes were half lidded in sleepiness and his paws still ached, but he made it to the borders and he lifted his muzzle to call.

Perhaps they were no longer here. He had been gone longer than he had promised, but he had wanted to be sure that she received what he could give. So he called for the she wolf he had met in the grassy plains and he waited, quietly.