Silver Moraine hole in the earth

the boy.

he has to rescue the boy.

mulherin has not returned since the calamity at nova peak. the pupnapper escaped him, for now. he will find her in due time. and he cannot tell himself otherwise.

but the moraine is barren. there is nothing for scent to cling to any longer. the trail withers away. 

and in a way the past repeats itself. he’d come here once, with masquerade. his bloodlust had nearly made him forget.

she was dead. 

in a way he’s mad at her.

leaving, returning, leaving this earth; shoving in his hands the burgeoning task of picking up the pieces of dragonspine. three nephews, motherless.

he resents her for doing to them what was done to him.

even if beyond her control. 

his throat pleads for water.

he does not answer.

keep going.

He didn’t dare come any closer to the rise, though the memory of his silent encounter with the two white wolves—the she-wolf, in particular—compelled him to linger. He kept the mount always in view as he ventured to the nearby plains. Cambria scratched out a place to sleep amidst some tall grass, rested a while, then headed eastward when hunger drove him to hunt.

The terrain grew progressively more rugged underfoot, slowing his pace from a hasty lope to a leisurely trot. He had never seen anything like the moraine and was keen to explore it, though Cambria knew he needed to satisfy another appetite first before he fed the one after knowledge. He dropped his nose to comb the uneven rockery for any signs of prey.

He quickly learned one thing about this sort of landscape: it did not make for very good hunting grounds. The lanky yearling spun on a heel, eyeing the plains back west and then giving the distant woods to the southeast an introspective glance. Cambria decided to head that way, carefully picking his way over the hostile topography.

Suddenly, he paused. Cambria’s nostrils flared as he whipped his head to his right, eyes scouring the horizon before fixing on a swarthy figure in the middle distance. His posture stiffened even as he gazed curiously at what appeared to be yet another yearling. Even more curious was the deliberate, almost frenetic nature of the stranger’s pacing across the scabrous earth.

a ghost on the horizon.

pale white, it leers at him.

squinting, he stops in his tracks and stares back. was it the huntlead? or his wife? or one of his daughters?

he cannot tell.

the silence only made him feel more miserable.

so he wanders forth to investigate the figure.

The wind stirred, blowing in a northerly direction and bringing with it the susurrus of cicadas. Cambria glanced at the forest to the south before retraining his two-toned gaze on the sooty figure. An ear twitched when the stranger seemed to sense his taciturn presence from abroad. Both tilted a little backward when his fellow yearling then made a decisive approach.

Cambria took the measure of the other young man as he came closer and took on more detail. He was shorter than the rangy white Dragonling, though corded tightly with lissome muscle. He would make a formidable opponent should a fight arise, though there was no reason to believe anything like that might happen. There was an air of mutual curiosity in the air between them.

Hello, he offered in a baritone rumble, wondering if this wolf spoke.

not a familiar face, it turns out as he nears.

he wasn’t much for hellos.

you’re close to the rise. he informs.

his tone is different from how he usually addresses strangers, less cold.

perhaps a bit cordial, albeit the dry rasp.

there’s a reason. there’s something he wants.

the young man might have information. as of now, there were only loose ends in the moraine.

another pair of eyes would be of use.

you seen anyone else out here?

He did speak. His words might have been an accusation, if not for the tone. Cambria’s eyes flitted to the rise in the distance, one brow arching ever so slightly. This fellow’s definition of “close” must differ from his own, though there was no cause for argument, nor room for it. The stranger quickly chased his observation with a question.

He need not answer, though Cambria found no reason to refuse and said, Besides the pair of white wolves I came across nearer to the rise a few days back, I haven’t seen anyone. He likely knew them, though instead of asking, he pressed, Why do you ask?

I’m looking for someone.

he replies, quite obviously. the someone wasn’t from the rise, which the man seems to be familiar with, having encountered other rise-members prior.

unless there were droves of other white wolves around here, which was unlikely.

he lets up more information.

a woman. she has a kid with her.

He was searching for somebody, two somebodies actually. That explained his quietly intense energy, the way he’d been pacing when Cambria had first spotted him. Of course, the Dragonling hadn’t seen anyone at all, much less anyone fitting these descriptions. Yet that did not necessarily mean he couldn’t help.

His tail flicked as he replied, Are you looking for the woman, the child or both? Where were they last seen?

Cambria wanted to ask why as well, though he held his tongue. Perhaps the other yearling would offer up the information with his response. Surely he would want to provide as many contextual clues as possible to optimize his search.

the answer is automatic. both.

while he only wanted the child back, a vengeful part of him sought the woman moreover. indeed, he looked for both.

kill the woman. he says. she went south.

the boy was taken.

Cambria’s lips parted when Mulherin said, “Kill the woman,” followed by some directions and a brief explanation: she’d kidnapped the child. He said nothing for a solid minute, taking the time to process this shocking information.

I don’t want to keep you from your search. Tell me exactly what they look like, he said slowly, drawing in a breath, and any other information you think would be useful. If you head southwest, I can go southeast. I’ll report back if I find anything.

His eyes slid from the dark wolf’s face to the rise in the distance over yonder. Cambria knew where to find him, should he find anything. His heart thumped solidly in his chest. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into it but he could not ignore the call to help an innocent child in danger.

good. he replies. it eases his racing mind to have even a stranger on his side.

a plea to basic morality.

she is small. skinny. coyote-like.

a dry lick of his lips. he nods, then turns away.

you’ll know its her. you’ll know its not her boy.

and ambles off into the moraine before the vertigo can catch up to him.