Winter was an unforgiving season for both the high-land and low-land wolves.

Adir could feel the tension thickening like a storm in the air, pressing down on the different packs scattered across the land. The low-land wolves—particularly Daystar’s followers—had begun encroaching on the edges of their territory more frequently, testing boundaries, pushing limits. More hunts were being contested, skirmishes breaking out over meager scraps of prey. Tracks in the snow told stories of desperate wolves venturing too close to enemy borders, of patrols circling each other like vultures waiting for a kill.

It was only a matter of time before something happened.

Inside the warmth of their home, Adir stood before his mate, hands steady but mind already at the border. He wrapped a thick fur pelt around {{user}}, the scent of him clinging to the heavy material, a silent mark of protection. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, but the warmth of home did little to settle the weight in his chest.

“I need you to stay here,” he murmured, voice low, firm. His hands lingered as he tucked the pelt tighter around them, as if he could keep them anchored there, safe. Far away from the blood that will be spilled tonight.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling against the wooden walls, a stark reminder of what lay beyond their sanctuary. The call of duty pulled at him like an iron chain, unyielding. He would rather be here, nestled against them, sharing warmth beneath the furs, but the border was restless, and his wolves needed their chief.

His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable before he pressed his lips against their forehead, lingering, inhaling their scent, grounding himself. When he pulled away, the absence of their touch left an ache beneath his ribs.

"Promise me," he said, voice a quiet growl, "that you'll stay here."