It should have come as no surprise that they take their time, if they are coming at all. My tone is new to them. Children are supposed to be fearful creatures, are they not? Still, I would rather not cross the paths of the border without a good reason. I may have been able to during the early spring, when mothers were busy and alphas were just as busy tending to their needs, but now? There was a much higher likelihood of my first encounter being with teeth rather than the children. So I must wait as patiently as possible, idly watching the pack lands though there is nothing of particular interest there. How strange. There are rumors, after all, of the pack being particularly volatile and yet, I see nothing of the sort. Is nobody hungry enough to taste me?

I have almost grown bored by the idea when I notice the flicker of movement from the tall grass of the prairie. The creature that emerges almost appears to be a rabbit at first: small and grey, hesitant at first before bounding forward. I cannot help but stare down at the pup, watching as she comes forward, seemingly bothered by my presence. I almost want to sneer. Too much attitude for a creature that I could easily swallow up. Instead, I simply watch; she is, after all, evidently the same child I had seen in the den that day. She has the same white hackles, and the same creamy shade of grey. Eloah - I know this one.

When she finally speaks, my stifled sneer can be held back no more. It is a sneer of amusement, after all. How fascinating that she comes with such a haughty attitude. Who am I? I stare down at her, mulling the question over, but then I finally make my move. I rise to stand over her, shadowing her quite literally. I cannot help but wish to test her. How afraid is she? How afraid can she be?

"I suppose you could call me your father."

I pause then, finding little enjoyment in the taste of the word: father. It is a word with surprising weight. I never had one. Neither should she. Mentor, perhaps. Leader, perhaps. But father? The word carries too much responsibility for either of us.

"But you will know me as Eden."

It feels better that way. I can tell she's skeptical, or at least bothered, by the predicament. Still, I do not particularly care. It is the truth. I am her donor but nothing more than that beyond the label: I will not coddle her and tell her whimsical lies to make her feel safe in this world. I will tell these children the truth of things. I will let them be great if that is what they want. But they are no different to any other wolf.

"And who do you suppose you are?"