Bitterroot Valley feels like we only go backwards

Much to his relief, Alarian began to rouse, and much to his happiness, he tucked himself into Zamael's embrace. Zamael held him tight, shaking his head as he apologized. "Don't be sorry, a bràthair," he whispered, grooming the ruffled back of Alarian's neck--he was just as unkempt and feral as he always had been, his little topsy-turvy brother. The love he'd held back for so long overcame him, and Zamael began to weep quietly, tears soaking into Alarian's ruff.

"I'm tired, too," Zamael murmured, the sound muffled as he became congested from crying. He sniffled, cudding closer. "It's all right, Alarian. We're together again. The mistakes I made in the past. . .I want to fix them all. I won't leave you. I promise." It wasn't a lie. Zamael was bringing Alarian back to the tribes, whether he liked it or not. They would not be separated, for any reason. He would see to it.

"Let me take you back to your home," he continued, voice barely audible. "Get some food in you. Get some sleep. Then we can talk more." The exhaustion of his journey was beginning to weigh on him as well, and he found it suddenly difficult to keep his eyes open.