Hushed Willows A crackpipe full of dreams

As he moved over the frozen land, no other howls rose to join his own. Not even as the seconds spanned into minutes. With the cruel chill of the wind biting at his coat, realization began to creep similarly on him. Were they really left here alone?

He'd known the pack was small, but for him, that was fine. There had been the two females, one he'd tracked with, another he'd seen in passing. Of course, Stark had stood as the centerpiece, with Banner close to him. Buchanan had been among them not so long ago too. Silas hadn't seen Amara or her whelps that much recently, but again, for him, that was perfectly alright because he'd rather not see them if he could. He got by with a meager amount of camaraderie, someone warm to sleep next to if he wanted, and a willow forest still able to give him enough to hunt.

Before the thought could devolve further, he spied Tambourine's silvered silhouette and a stranger. A stranger. His ears pressed flat against his head and he steeled himself, forcing his paws towards this new unknown.

The Ostrega slid up beside his remaining pack mate and eyed the older wolf warily, worried, but cold and tired too. He said nothing, sensing their conversation and not knowing if a bland little greeting was even appropriate. Not knowing how to feel, not when two young wolves couldn't defend these empty grounds, kept him quiet.