Silver Moraine Like a colour lost in shade

He was dead. He knew it and the despair of it crushed him. Without his family he was unable to obtain food, and he didn't have the slightest clue which direction they were in. The paralytic fear that had kept him moving throughout the night had also robbed him of his memories of the event; he retained only brief flashes to reference, and his flight had been so frantic that he didn't know how many times he'd changed directions or gone off course. No, it was impossible for him to find his way back to Caiaphas' arms and Kierkegaard's stoic protection. He was on his own and he was going to die.

Instinct told him to find others to stave off the inevitable, but others turned him away once before. He could only imagine that would be the outcome again, and that made the weight on his shoulders heavier. He was sobbing so heavily and was so dead exhausted that he didn't even notice Étoille creeping up behind him; the adult male could have dispatched him and he would never know what hit him. But he didn't. A gravelly voice reached his ears instead and Ephraim mustered the little energy he'd recovered to lift his head and turn his blurry gaze over a narrow shoulder.

The ruddy-masked wolf was like no one he'd ever seen, but he had a gentle countenance and soft eyes, so Ephraim slowly nodded. He didn't think words would come out even if he opened his mouth, so he didn't even try. He just sniffled as a shiver ran through him.