@Hydra - hi ily this is short/small but full of much appreciation for you as a person
Afternoon sunlight brought life to the mountain range. Though the heat had been somewhat unbearable in the last month, the rain had come and had offered the wolves of Moonspear some relief. The yearling had adjusted his schedule so that he could patrol their claim after dark. It had given him time and space to be on his own while being mindful of the needs of the pack. When winter came, Atlas knew that he would be able to guard their territory at any time.
Squinting his gaze against the streak of light, the dark young wolf moved down the rocky slope and onto flatter footing. He lowered his head to the earth and sniffed before drawing his sights upward and setting them on the forest that he could see in the distance. The mountain was a place filled with pride, but he wondered what dark secrets existed in the wild wood.
Hydra had not been following the trail of Atlas, though was pleasantly surprise to see him ahead. First the dark outline of him, and then, as he drew nearer in the rains, the sharp cut of his features that made him unmistakably her son. She had already lurked the flatter parts of their territory to inspect it and get an idea of what it looked like. Naturally, the rains effected these parts far more than the upper reaches.
Her gaze followed his own, though did not carry half as much interest in it. Licking her chops, the muddied matriarch wordlessly moved to meet him where he stood.
The young wolf turned his sights around to see the figure of his mother approaching. It was a pleasant surprise to find her out in the muck. Atlas would have assumed she was doing what she could to keep the newer litter from making a mess of the den site. There was a soft wavering of his tail in greeting as she stepped up alongside him and cast her sights to match his own.
“Do you think this rain will ever stop again?” the boy inquired with a tone that felt a bit too dismal. Atlas could not help but feel that they had endured enough of the wonders of rainfall; their lands had already prospered from the fresh water. It would not have been long before winter was upon them. He feared that their autumn would be cut short by the downpour.
Hydra considered his question as she looked 'round them. I do... although, it does not smell as though it will relent any time soon,
she admitted, though the rain will bring cooler weather with it, once it does. Summer has come to an abrupt, and wet, end,
she acknowledged with a miffed wrinkling of her lip. It was not what she was used to, but she would adapt and overcome with the rest of her pack.
Her tail swayed behind her. We will take advantage of this weather, though. Learn with it, and from it. What if it were to never end? What might happen?
she asked of Atlas, wondering if he might have thought on this for very long, as she had.
That winter would have been his second. The first was endured primarily by his youth; they were protected by their mother and father, only barely tested by the elements. Atlas had thought for several months what the arrival of winter would mean for him and for the skills he had learned in his first year and beyond. More than this, the dark young wolf knew that the years beyond that moment would bring the possibility of a mate and even children of his own. These were thoughts that had only entered his mind once or twice and never for long. The idea of a family that was his felt too foreign – too foolish to be a possibility just yet.
“That will happen sooner than we think then, won't it? The rains have already made everything much cooler. How can we prepare for the coming months?”
The young shadow was troubled by his worries.
There was stress in the edges of his words that grated against the back of his throat. Atlas could not even fathom the idea that the storms might never cease. He did not believe that he would miss the scorching summer sun, but he was certain he would have given anything to see a day like that before the snow fell on their lands. The yearling searched the features of his mother with thin lips and a brow that had knit only enough to see the strain on his face.