Emberwood Closeness breeds familiarity

Nearly a year old. Sven had inherited his father's stockiness. But his fur was darker and peppered with pinpricks of stars. A scent had come to him on the wind. One he knew, but couldn't quite place it. But he knew it was someone he had loved once. Someone who knew their father, possibly even had been raised by their father or something. Fadir had raised and taken in so many. Sven wasn't even sure of all of them anymore.

HE found himself at the edge of a forest with large golden boughs. It enclosed a small forest, where pinpricks of light danced along the edges and rich soil gleamed beneath their lifted branches. Curious he sniffed, but stopped at the edge of the borderline. Someone was making a home here, but who?