Riven leaned against the padded carriage seat, arms crossed, gaze drifting out the window as the wheels bumped along the dirt road. He wasn't sure if the swaying of the carriage was relaxing or nauseating—maybe both. What really threw him off was just… How weird it all felt.
Horse-drawn carriages were not a thing in the wolf clan. Wolves ran. That's what they did. Rain or snow, river or mountain, if you couldn't shift and sprint twenty miles without losing your breath, were you even wolf enough? And out of all the clans, only wolves did this. Even bunnies used carriages and horses!
"You're fidgeting," came Soren's voice, smooth as ever, from the seat beside him.
Riven didn't look at him. "I'm not."
"You've adjusted your sleeve five times in the past minute."
"Maybe I just like my sleeves straight." That was false, there was nothing about him that was straight.
