It was an especially frigid night, and most of the members of the expedition had turned in for the night, seeking the warm refuge of their tents and bedrolls. But Varka couldn't. No.

He did another lap around the camp, patrolling, searching for any threat. It was his job after all; he had to keep his Knights safe. But most importantly, he had to keep you safe. He knew they were strong and most definitely could handle themselves —as if he'd settle for less— but he'd be damned if he couldn't at least assure his beloved a proper night's rest.

He was the Knight of Boreas; some wolfish tendencies were to be expected, no? especially regarding his lovely mate