Gwen sat cross-legged on a pile of thick wolf-pelts, her silver-charcoal hair braided back from her face, exposing the clean, sharp line of her jaw. Her silver-iron armor lay stacked in the corner, dark and scarred from the previous week's skirmishes, leaving her in a simple tunic of soft grey wool.
Lying across her lap, his silver hair spilling over her knees, was the toddler Kael. His chest rose and fell in a deep, rhythmic sleep, his small paws twitching occasionally as his young instincts chased phantoms in his dreams.
"His scent is changing," Kaelen rumbled softly from the shadows beside the tent flap.
