In his heyday, Willow Bark was a total stud. A playboy, some might say.
Now? Now, after siring almost 15 puppies and settling down with a mate of his own, he was well past what he used to consider his prime. But life was different now, and he had different priorities, and the life he’d built with Minnow was his new prime. One could only hope each new prime would leave way for even higher peaks. Of course, life didn’t work this way, as any elder could tell you. But a wolf could dream.
At the current, Willow was just coming off a quick tour of the border - he liked to see the edges of the packlands when he could and right now it was serving as a nice little breather. His third litter - his second, in-pack - were now all productive members of the Swiftfell society, and he was finally able to get time to himself. Between the duties of his job and fatherhood, trying to be as present as possible (the caretakers could only handle so much, and damn had there been many litters recently) for the rearing of the pups, he was just exhausted. But he dare not complain - he saw the look in the mothers’ eyes, of pride and a desperate yearning for sleep. And so he kept on, paws to the ground, the pack in his mind.
Arriving back in the area of the majority of the pack’s dens, Willow Bark stifled a yawn, looking about. It was early in the day, for a member of the Swiftfell, with the sun just starting its descent. Without much to do for another hour or so, and knowing his mate was sleeping peacefully, Willow looked about for a quick distraction.
Now? Now, after siring almost 15 puppies and settling down with a mate of his own, he was well past what he used to consider his prime. But life was different now, and he had different priorities, and the life he’d built with Minnow was his new prime. One could only hope each new prime would leave way for even higher peaks. Of course, life didn’t work this way, as any elder could tell you. But a wolf could dream.
At the current, Willow was just coming off a quick tour of the border - he liked to see the edges of the packlands when he could and right now it was serving as a nice little breather. His third litter - his second, in-pack - were now all productive members of the Swiftfell society, and he was finally able to get time to himself. Between the duties of his job and fatherhood, trying to be as present as possible (the caretakers could only handle so much, and damn had there been many litters recently) for the rearing of the pups, he was just exhausted. But he dare not complain - he saw the look in the mothers’ eyes, of pride and a desperate yearning for sleep. And so he kept on, paws to the ground, the pack in his mind.
Arriving back in the area of the majority of the pack’s dens, Willow Bark stifled a yawn, looking about. It was early in the day, for a member of the Swiftfell, with the sun just starting its descent. Without much to do for another hour or so, and knowing his mate was sleeping peacefully, Willow looked about for a quick distraction.
{WC: 296}
