The Heartwood I have blessed each one of these bullets

@Bernard

By the time that the light had begun to dim (which happened so early now within the full blast of winter), he'd made his way off of the slopes and towards the valley's center. A forest had come in to view beyond the white and silent meadow through which he had been trailing, and he plotted his way towards it with some skepticism. The last thing Screech wanted was to be caught by surprise by someone again - but he pushed the previous experience far from his mind, unable to cope with the spontenaity of the stranger's death, nor his own response to it.

He knew that heading back was in his best interest, but the boy just couldn't make his body agree just yet; he tried to enjoy the pristine look of the world that was around him, the calm that had descended with winter's blessing, and ignore the tension that had begun to build within his body since he had discovered Cassiopeia. Screech was more unnerved by her appearance than the prospect of war between the valley packs (although it was only rumored, he had learned a little bit while bedridden for those two weeks, and the guilt had nearly eaten him alive). With a deep sigh and a sag to his shoulders, the tired boy moseyed through the edge of the Heartwood until he felt compelled to stop, at which point he slumped down among the trees for a much needed rest.