POV: Frank
The problem with a pack of thirty wolves is that they are entirely too creative at finding new ways to waste my time.
It was supposed to be a simple negotiation. One of our younger males had crossed into the northern neutral buffer zone, purely out of stupidity, tracking a deer. No territory lines were broken, no laws violated, but it required my physical presence to ensure the neighboring Alpha didn't turn an i***t's hunting trip into a political statement.
It should have taken two hours. It took four.
By the time I pulled the truck into the courtyard of The Den, the sun had already dipped below the tree line. Three hours until the full moon. The timing was tight, but the math still worked. I ran the numbers through my head before the engine even cut out: thirty minutes
