Northstar Vale Lemon children! Go forth!

Rian wasn't sure if what he was doing was the right answer to sooth Titmouse's woes. Maybe he should have woken Liffey, or Rannoch—they seemed far more devoted to the well-being of the younger members of the pack and had an innate knowledge of how to handle them. Rian, on the other hand, barely had a handle on himself let alone the budding, sometimes frustrating, personalities of the younger wolves. But suddenly Titmouse rose without much aplomb and picked his way through to Rian, who turned in the same silent fashion and led them both from the throng of slumbering wolves.

He passed beneath the bristled boughs of the great pines and into the shadows of the woods. There was no sign of danger here—no musk, nor half-eaten carcasses rotting in the mild late-spring air. He paused every so often to shoot a look back at Titmouse, feeling that same sense of thinly veiled despair that he used to feel often back in Neverwinter. He had no tools to help Titmouse understand that the bear incident wasn't his fault. No amount of talking it through would help, or he assumed.

Finally they reached the stream and Rian bowed his head to drink after checking on Titmouse one last time. He lapped up a few sips of chilly snowmelt, and flicked an ear towards the younger boy. A thought came to him and he voiced it before properly filtering it, "I have nightmares a lot," he began suddenly. "and it's hard. I don't sleep well most nights." He remarked. "But, I know it's just my mind playing tricks on me." The Frostfur yearling's whiskers quivered as he pursed his lips, and then sighed. "Sorry, I'm not good at this. But what I'm getting at is... sometimes you can't trust your inner voice to tell the truth, so you gotta put trust in your friends to steer you right."