His teeth grit together as the woman before him spoke, one of his offspring had been here as well, why had it taken so long for him to find this place? He would have been younger, he could have started from scratch, he could have raised this Eaglet to her birthright. Now? Now, she was Fiadh, missing an eye, with the sagging belly that told of a birth who knows how long ago. A pack behind her, against one lone elderly man.

He was furious.

I would have named you Harpy's Screech was all he said in response to the slight, her naming herself. Too late to change it now then Then, as if his own switch was thrown, he seemed gentler. Like the grandfather in the quiet moments out of sight of the pack, here with stories of his youth. A mask, of course, but he was so good at those that it was almost impossible to notice. This pack of yours, would they take an old man in?