The warm, miraculous feeling carries into the next morning, which dawns clear and bright and perfect. The pack rises early, wagging tails and silent, canine delight at the sight of Kurt curled up in the furs, perfect and warm and safe and theirs. It takes a few stern jabs from Naseer to herd the younger wolves away, so they don't wake up their exhausted little human. Corrigan stays, curled up in the fur, letting the pack go off to hunt down breakfast. The heat and hormones of the night before have somewhat abated, and it's time to think practically -- its still the heat of summer, but Kurt will need things to stay warm and fed, and the pack is always thinking about the upcoming bitter winter. Now with a mate to provide for, there'll be more hunts than ever.

But for this morning, Corrigan simply allows himself the domestic comfort of sleeping in a bit, shimmering back to his humanoid form so he can wrap his arms around Kurt and pull them close, kissing at the back of their neck. The birds outside are near-deafening, and there's a low grumble in the alpha’s stomach that finally prompts him to sit up. If he's hungry, Kurt must be starving. The stew is still warm, resting over the low coals of the fire, and Corrigan scoops some into a bowl, fetching another one of water from the rain barrel, then setting both near the couch.

Then, softening, he reaches out to stroke a loose wave of hair out of Kurt's sleeping face. "Wake up, little one," he murmurs, fingers gentle down the shape of their cheek.