Cupid. Yeah, that's what he said. His ratty little thin thumped a couple times, muffled by the layers of soft bedding beneath him as he peered up at the wolf. She was saying a lot of words, most of them he couldn't quite understand yet, but he liked the sound. It was different from when his mom would talk to him — her voice was softer, wavering, hesitant — and it was a lot different from the yelling, screaming, and rush of water.

The other wolf's voice was soft, too. He didn't yell or try to snatch him, but he still wasn't too sure of him just yet. His gaze flickered between Not-Mom and her Well, and he inched a little deeper into the darkness of the den.