Fennel

🌿 "The Quiet Watch" — Fennel's Lore
The mountains of Windtooth were harsh and unyielding, but among the rocky paths and whispering pines, there was a place of warmth—the den, and at its mouth stood Fennel.

He was not a wolf of loud words or daring hunts. Where others charged across crags or stalked prey through mist, Fennel stayed behind, eyes always open, ears always alert. His fur—mottled brown and warm like the forest floor—let him disappear against the stone and shadow, a quiet guardian among chaos.

The pups adored him. Not because he played the fool or babied them, but because he listened. He remembered every name, every story of imagined monsters or dreams of glory. And when they strayed too close to the den's edge, it was Fennel who appeared like a ghost from the brush, gently ushering them back with a low nudge or soft bark.

Some said he'd been different once—more restless, more eager to prove himself. But that was before Aspen had returned from a long hunt, bloodied but proud, and handed Fennel two tiny bundles of fur with eyes barely open. "Watch them," she'd said. "Their names are Tansy and Goosefoot. They're yours now."

From that moment, Fennel changed. Not softened—he was never soft—but rooted. Like the herbs he was named for, he grew best where care was needed, where young hearts needed steady paws.

He does not boast, does not chase glory. But when the sun rises over Windtooth and the pups tumble out of the den, one constant remains: Fennel's silent shadow, watching.