Otter Creek I never thought coyotes essential

A year and a half ago, now, when he and Catarmaran had split up for good, Wildflower had thought a lot about what he wanted his life to look like. Still hadn't come to many conclusions; for now, different was enough. But he could never have guessed that he'd end up chasing a man across multiple territories on the slim hope that....

What? That they'd be together? That the man would be less crazy, now? That, somehow, Wildflower could at least keep him from giving up his life getting in the middle of his family's crusades?

Maybe it was just that Wildflower wanted to see him again. And he couldn't very well do that if the man died before he got there. So, the chase. Exhausting, especially after he'd already hurried back to Witch Island and found his quarry gone. He'd followed his uncle's scent, then, only to peel off when he caught Sunspot's.

Now he was lost. Now, most everything seemed lost. Wildflower lay on the frosty bank of the creek, attempting to reorder his priorities so that he might get up and walk on once more.

Truth be told, Sunspot hadn't thought much of Wildflower since the last time he'd seen him. He hadn't because he couldn't; because he knew that if he did, he would never stop thinking about him, and he would never stop mourning his absence. So he just didn't. Wildflower was gone now, and so too was the part of Sunspot which had thought he might love him.

Until the day that changed, and the scent on the wind told Sunspot that this chapter wasn't quite finished yet — or at least, it wasn't meant to be. He had a choice in it still, he knew that.

Thing was:

Wildflower had left.

And of course Sunspot knew why. Family and all — but no, more than that, he knew why. Wildflower had seen more of him than perhaps any other wolf alive, there was no denying that. Only through indirect bits and pieces, sure, but these days Sunspot was half a stranger even to his favorite sister. No one else had stayed long enough to see how he had changed; how he was still changing; how miserable he was even then. He couldn't ask them to.

He'd never asked Wildflower to stay, either. He'd only hoped that he would want to — but he didn't. Surely there was nothing else to say.

Still, something drew him forward. Something about the moment reminded him of their first meeting — but different in so many ways. This time it was Sunspot who was wary, who kept his distance even as he looked over Wildflower from afar to assure himself that the man wasn't ill or injured.

As much as he tried, Wildflower couldn't exorcise the golden ghost from his mind. Of course he couldn't. The desert hadn't been able to bake away his influence, either.

Lying there, tired and melancholy, the sidewinder realized he would just have to keep looking. For now, though, he shut his eyes and listened to the soft susurrus of the swirling creek. The wind clinking eerily through the shedding trees. He breathed deep, his lungs expanding and slowly contracting, once, twice —

Stormwater eyes flickered open. He lifted his head and half-turned toward the familiar scent. His eyes, however, were distant unfocused. What if it was a ghost after all?

"Hey, cher," he murmured to the breeze, testing out the words. Even if Sunspot wasn't there, maybe it was time to talk.

Wildflower did not look well. Concern overtook any other emotion Sunspot might have identified then; none of it mattered if Wildflower wasn't well. A few steps brought him further forward, still wary but nearly ready to abandon caution entirely.

Cher, he called him again. Sunspot never had asked what that meant, and he wouldn't now, either. The coywolf looked so tired. Are you okay? he wanted to ask, but it felt like a stupid question. He couldn't make himself form the words. Instead he took another step toward Wildflower, golden eyes stinging but mercifully dry for now and filled with a silent request: tell me what I can do.