Duck Lake The hardest part about moving forward is not looking back

This was it: the last place she could remember visiting before she joined the pack. Semira's muzzle tilted up into the sky, seeking the smell of fresh spring flowers. Instead she found the scent of crisp fall leaves and the light chill riding the breeze. Her shoulders sank deeper, her amber optics training on her own paws as they left prints in the soft mud of the shoreline. No longer did the cacophony of ducks shatter the silence of the lake, instead Semira was left bereft of the springtime joy she had felt months before.

What a terrible idea. Coming back so near to her old home was probably one of her worst ideas yet. Now Mira's paws were swiping at the rocks in her path, her tail flashing angrily behind her. She remembered meeting someone here, but it was more of the aura of the place itself she missed. Maybe she thought she would feel happy again in coming back here, instead she felt lost. Even this place had changed. Everything had changed.