The colder it got, the more Arthur worried about things. It wasn’t new to anyone who knew him, but to others this would be a first time. Just as with Dutch’s gang, the timber wolf couldn’t help but act as Snowbound’s unofficial dad. It was an odd sort of instinct he had; an overwhelming desire to keep everyone in line and protected. “Go put on a scarf for God’s sake you’re giving me frostbite just lookin’ at ‘cha.” “I told you once and I’ll say it again— you are NOT stepping one hair out of this camp until that hole in your guts good and healed. Unless you want to kill over then by my guest.” He nagged because he cared. Of course he wasn’t as severe as Ms. Grimshaw but he was up there. Among his thoughts included the need for food. He hadn’t seen many hunting patrols coming in or out on a regular basis and it had bugged him enough to try and get a rag tag group of Snowbounders out with him for a hunting party.

The wolf stood at the base of the spire, double checking he had what he needed before announcing. “Goin’ on a hunting patrol. I’ll need a few of you to ride with me if you want to eat tonight.”

Mobile//