Qeya River under the dome

He drank reverently, for travel and thought had tempted his thirst. The days seemed to go by in a haze- he spoke very little if the dark wood, and naught of their religion or of the injuries he slowly recovered from. He had expected to feel complete again when he found Vuk; and he did, but there was a piece of him now that belonged in the dark wood. He had committed the long list of herbs and poisons to memory, upholding his promise never to forget, and had faded into silence in the past few days. He spoke with his mother with warmth and joy, though times alone had his thoughts drifting back to a place long gone, now.

He lifted his muzzle, a few stray drops splashing into the river below, and for a moment caught his ripping reflection. He neared six months of age, and he had filled out appropriately.  Perhaps soon he would rival his mother in height.  Strangly, memories of his mother were few and far between, yet treasured, it was the figure of reek much of his memories returned too.

He dipped his muzzle in the river again, drinking deeply, yet his youthful blue optics did not pause in their flirting glances over the landscape.