”Where are we from?”

”Seriously, bubba? This again,” she says, rolling her eyes and nipping at his shoulder playfully. Heretic responds with a stony look that makes her grumble, obviously not in the mood for her antics. ”It’s important that you remember, Leto. You must always remember the story. Where are we from?” They’d talked about what they would tell their new pack if they asked in case anyone from their father’s pack every came asking questions, though he wasn’t convinced she’d paid much attention to him through her nights of sulking over her littermate, Apollo.

”A small mountain pack that was ambushed and absorbed by a larger pack. Our mother and father were killed in the scuffle, we escaped.” He is surprised when she answers correctly, nodding with acknowledgement and pressing his lips firmly together. She nips at his shoulder again and laughs, though it is a weak and breathy sound that troubles him. He returns the nip and a gentle nudge as worry and agitation grow simultaneously in his chest, one feeding the other like kindling on a fire.

Of course, Leto has always had a way of sensing his worry and she pins him with her icy eyes, a silent plea for him to relax. How can he possibly relax when he can hear the strength leaving her each day? He glowers back but she simply gives him a wolfish grin, stopping abruptly near the root of a large spruce tree and dropping to the ground. ”Quit worrying about me, brother,” she scolds in her sweet soprano voice, dropping her muzzle to rest between her paws. ”Let’s rest here to soothe your ridiculous concerns.”

”Fine,” he snaps, bristling at being reprimanded by her but agreeing nonetheless. He curls up beside her on the ground, his much larger body doubling effectively as both shield and warmth. Leto falls asleep quickly beside him but he doesn’t dare sleep, not when they are exposed and alone. His red eyes scan the trees while his ears constantly monitor the sounds, the creaking of branches and rustle of leaves in the spring breeze. Rays of midday light streak through the canopy and pepper the ground with shards of yellow glow and somewhere in the distance, the cracking of a branch sends him lurching to his feet.

Another crack elicits a low growl, his hackles rising as he looks toward the sound. Beside him Leto stirs but does not wake, her weak body too tired to be bothered.

”Who’s there,” Heretic demands in a low, menacing voice, his voice steady and quiet so as not to disturb his resting sister.