In the days that followed their return, Kove was as vigilant as ever in maintaining the borders. On the day of the attack, he had been absent from his post, slow to realise and react to the intrusion—but that would not happen again. He travelled just behind the treeline, hidden from any prying eyes by the thick foliage, but he was always there. Waiting and watching, letting it be known to the pack’s inhabitants that his role as the forest’s guardian would not be stripped from him by age alone.

Kove was just finishing up his evening patrol of the northern border when he turned to delve deeper into the woods. He did not dare let his voice slice through the air, too soon to let it be known that they were returned to the flatlands, but was instead silent in his search for @Shivali.

It didn’t take long before he found her, his approach detected and her face seen. He slowed to a stop a few steps away from her, nodded his head, and said, “Salutitsinik.” It felt strange—pleasantly so—to use his mother tongue so freely and still be understood. Whilst he’d tried to share the language with his children, few had actually taken a liking to it, and he doubted that any of them still used it; it wasn’t necessary, not when the common tongue was the prime language of these southern lands. It was refreshing to use it again, however, especially with one not of his own blood; he was reminded of the north, of his extended family, and he wondered how they all were faring.

Lingering no longer on his own thoughts, he focused on her. “ÂkKiven?” he asked, glancing at her body. Searching for her gaze thereafter, he offered the full extent of his attention, genuinely interested in hearing her response; he hoped she was well.

Although the words registered in his mind with relative ease, they did not keep away his prying eyes. He gazed at her directly before turning his attention towards the rest of her body, trailing over every inch of her before landing on her forelimbs; though they were covered in blood no longer, the missing fur served as an ugly reminder of the battle she’d been dragged into. His jaw clenched as he stared, regretting having not done more to help her, and then deciding he was foolish to assume that a woman of the north needed his help—were his intentions to be laughed at and mocked by the souls of females that were to someday linger alongside his?

When she spoke again, he was snapped out of it redirected his staring upwards. A small, uneasy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’m well,” he returned, expression relaxing. Tilting his muzzle, he invited her to walk with him; should she agree, he’d start moving northwards. “Do you like it here?” he had to ask, curious if she was as troubled as he often was. It was not easy being so far from the north, from the only place one had ever known—especially not when the language that now surrounded them was not their own.

His question was ignored, another topic brought up that he wasn’t yet sure he wanted to touch on—but now it was out and he had no choice but to do so, knowing well she deserved answers. Letting out a sigh, he gave her a single-worded response: “Gone.” To where, he wasn’t entirely sure; for all any of them knew, he could be chasing after a ghost, searching for someone that he would never find. And though these thoughts struck him now, he’d not brought them up to the male in question prior to his departure, he’d merely accepted things as they were. Something that he might someday regret, the absence of answers sure to be troubling as he ages, but as of now he hardly let it get to him.

“He left to find his sister,” he added. Whether or not that was still the case, he would never know; Vaati could die somewhere out there and he would never find out, nor would he bother with searching. For though he’d accepted things as they were, accepted that the child had decided to seek out his wayward sibling, he could not deny his own dislike of the boy or his choices; he’d abandoned the woods, essentially, after driving them into a war that would never have come about if not for his impulsiveness—and that recklessness could not be forgiven, not in full.

As she fell silent he followed after, searching her expression for something that might make her thoughts obvious, but found nothing. He considered asking her directly, taking the silence as an opportunity to pry into things, only to think better of it before continuing. He took a step towards her instead, closing the distance without touching her, and offered what support he could. “He’s gone, but there are still others here that are not,” he told her. “And with his departure, this land has become mine.” Though, in a way, it had always been his. Not to lead, that was new, but to protect—and he would continue to do that, up until the day he died.

“There won’t be another war,” he continued, an attempt at reassuring her made. “And if there is, you can leave. No one will expect you to fight for those you do not know, not again.” He certainly wouldn’t.

Even as she stepped away he did not move, remaining where he was as he watched. He did not know what the issue was, if not the threat of war, though his expression did not betray his confusion; his face appeared stoic, entirely neutral, for now. “If it’s not war, then what?” he asked. Was there truly even something to fear? As far as he could see, things were on the right path to returning to how they once were; before long, the woods would be as he remembered it, and was that not enough? Did that not take away everything that might cause worry or fear? It certainly did for him.

That which plagued her mind resonated within him, for he could recall several times during which he felt the same; that he was not meant to be here, that he was meant to return to the north. And, at times, he’d even listened to those nagging thoughts and seriously contemplated returning to TakKik Kunnâk—but he never had, he’d always remained there in the woods despite everything. “Do you want to leave?” he had to ask, turning his body towards her. “You wouldn’t be the first to think about it.” Or to do it, for that matter.

“This isn’t the north,” he noted. “Maybe neither of us are meant to be here, but that doesn’t mean either of us has to leave.” At this point, he wondered if he could, if he would be able to make such a great journey, even if he really wanted to. “If you have to leave, I understand,” he continued. “But I’d rather you didn’t.” It was a selfish request, he realised, but he didn’t feel terrible for making it. She was his only connection to the north, to his heritage, so he couldn’t not ask her to stay.

He kept his eyes on her, watching as she approached. He kept all of his limbs planted firmly on the ground, refraining from approaching, letting her decide just how much distance was lost between them. But then she spoke and he had to wonder to himself, did he have a non-selfish reason for wanting her to remain? He searched deep within himself, yet there was nothing to find; his selfishness was the only thing there, much to his displeasure. “We’re the only ones here connecting each other to the north,” he answered, allowing his limbs a single step in her direction. “I’ve lived here for so long without any connection to my homeland before you arrived, I’m sure you do not want to experience the same loss.” He considered adding how no one else in these lands would understand her, his son aside, but decided against it; he wanted her to stay, not point out what she was unable to do.

Copper eyes focused on her, following her movements until they were touching. Though taken somewhat by surprise, he did not pull away, allowing his muzzle to linger there against her own. He knew he needed not say anything more, her decision clearly made. When the north called to him and those long-ago memories made his heart ache, he would have her there within his reach—a piece of the north to keep him grounded, remind him of where he’d come from, and speak with him in a language that few southerners could comprehend.