Wolfgang's eyes snapped open suddenly, sitting up in bed with his messy red hair sticking up in all directions, as if he had just received an electric shock.
He blinked a few times, looking around and seeing only his wolves sprawled on the ground. Rubbing his nose with a finger, he got up, stretching his limbs.
It was late afternoon, and the hunger gnawing at his stomach let out an audible growl.
Rubbing his belly, Wolfgang headed toward the dining tent, but halfway there, he stopped in his tracks.
Dazed for a moment, he turned on his heel, grabbed a passing soldier by their shoulder, and asked, "Where's my captain?"
The soldier, startled by Wolfgang's abruptness and unusual behavior, stammered, "L-Lord Beecham is resting in his tent."
"Which one?" Wolfgang pressed.
The soldier pointed in the direction of Maverick's tent, and Wolfgang released him, making his way there. He shoved the tent flap aside in one swift motion and stepped inside.
