The family was scattered, now. Dutch had returned to find Katmai gone once again, his mother departed and long overdue to return. His youngest brother missing a littermate, the litter before that down to a single daughter.
Sometimes, they all felt like strangers to him.
He lingered here in the valley. To the west was the home of his heart. His brother. The remains of a life well-loved. To the south were his family's ancestral lands — home bases dotted the taiga and the valley beyond, erstwhile and forgotten though they were. And behind him, if he really wanted, was a place he could've found rest. A place he could have waited for his family to return to him. A place he could've been useful. Could've been among blood.
And to the north, of course, was the ocean, violent and vengeful as she was. Dutch felt pulled in all directions, but mostly, he felt unmoored. Apathetic. A great and terrible wanting had opened up a pit in his belly, but he had nothing left to fill it with.
So he lingered. Padded silently through the snow first in one direction, then in another. Paused to dig at the remnants of an old den, though he had no goal with his tending. Eventually, he simply sat in the dead grasses and let snowdrifts accumulate on his thick pelt. When he looked up at the sky, he could almost pretend he was back on the mountain where he'd been born.
Sometimes, they all felt like strangers to him.
He lingered here in the valley. To the west was the home of his heart. His brother. The remains of a life well-loved. To the south were his family's ancestral lands — home bases dotted the taiga and the valley beyond, erstwhile and forgotten though they were. And behind him, if he really wanted, was a place he could've found rest. A place he could have waited for his family to return to him. A place he could've been useful. Could've been among blood.
And to the north, of course, was the ocean, violent and vengeful as she was. Dutch felt pulled in all directions, but mostly, he felt unmoored. Apathetic. A great and terrible wanting had opened up a pit in his belly, but he had nothing left to fill it with.
So he lingered. Padded silently through the snow first in one direction, then in another. Paused to dig at the remnants of an old den, though he had no goal with his tending. Eventually, he simply sat in the dead grasses and let snowdrifts accumulate on his thick pelt. When he looked up at the sky, he could almost pretend he was back on the mountain where he'd been born.
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