I'd not trade it for anything

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A howl breaks the winter air, young and searching. For who, Runar is not sure, but there is one thing he knows. When one howls, one answers.

The call that responds is more mature, deep, and filled out to where the tune does not crack. A song that their wayward visitor had been heard, even if it was not the response they so desired. His arrival was as swift as his paws could carry, but any journey down the slopes always took some time, especially with the snow and ice that draped their peaks. Runar was a large man; the last thing he wanted was to take a nasty fall down the mountains.

It took some time, but soon he would arrive to find the yearling, though size alone said he couldn't be much younger than himself. “Runar has heard your call. What or who is it you look for?”

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The High King boasts a loud and unapologetic laugh at the other's introduction. “Mouse? You are like no mouse I have seen before.” Only the small ones that scurried under brush and leaf, far too little to be worth the effort for a snack. His laughter eases to a warm chuckle, pondering the plight that followed. “Runar is sorry— your family, they are no laughing matter. And yourrr 'pop'.” The word is emphasized with a click of his mouth, “Just to be clear, he is not real bear?” Either way, it seemed the boy's search was lost here.

Runar's humorous nature is quelled for something more somber, “I'm afraid only my family lives at the Summit. We have no bears.” The words rumble thick with an underlying apology, something he wished he could scrape from his teeth like a well-practiced doctor. “Oh, but you are alone! Yes? That is no way to be, not for a wolf your age.” Capable, surely, but young were best suited with a pack or their parents. His mother had taught him best, and even though he may be High King, Runar still listened to Mother.

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