Whitefish River old friends, sat on their park bench like bookends

set as close as possible to morningside's border without trespassing. for @Grayday. set at dusk Dec. 6, when the stars and moon are just beginning to rise

Fengari's daughters had given their command. He was to stay no longer in this valley; the twinkling girls had beckoned him northward, across the mountains, and he would not disobey. After his conversation with Sera at the hot springs, he began to follow this river toward the range, sleeping on its banks by day and following the asteria by night.

The river curved suddenly, embracing the edges of this plateau tucked gently into the steep edges of the mountainside. He would have gone on, had he not caught a scent that seemed. . .familiar. Faintly so, but familiar nonetheless. Intrigued, Phocion kept going, and found himself near a pack's territory.

They were big and strong, from their scent markers, with wolves ranging from middle-aged adults to adolescents. And that oh-so familiar scent reigned strong here, pungent and masculine, a distinct warning for intruders to stay back. Was this an old Silvertip friend? Had some of the wolves from that mountain made a home here?

That evening, he awoke from slumber and stopped a dozen or so paces away from the pack's border, looking over the river and up the plateau. He wondered if maybe that familiar scent would materialize into a familiar face. Maybe, just maybe.

It was almost bedtime, but Grayday had wanted to finish one last patrol before turning in for the night. Having done that, he made his way down the slope to drink before making his way toward the rendezvous.

He might have missed the other wolf entirely had the wind not shifted and carried a familiar scent to his nose.

Silently, the male lifted his head and caught sight of the pale wolf across the river. His appearance was striking and eerily familiar to Day, but he could not say exactly where he'd seen the other before. "Hello," he called, his voice quizical but friendly. He couldn't help but think that something was missing from the other's scent - as though he'd known the wolf as part of a whole, rather than a singular being.

He did not have to wait long: someone finally appeared, a dark shape in the dim light. As he drew closer, Phocion began to take in his appearance, the shag of gray fur, gone lighter with age, the medium build. . .  The wolf stopped at the other edge of the water, and called out a greeting--and damned if his voice were not familiar, too.

"Hello," he called back tentatively, but as he said the word, a memory began to rise up in his mind. A cave, a man, a. . .name? In fact, if it hadn't been for that unique name, and the nicknames he had attached to it, Phocion might have never recalled him.

"Gr. . .Grayday," he guessed, grappling for the name at first but finding it finally, familiar, on his tongue. "Gray. . .or Day. Right?" He gave the other a smile, an expression that hadn't reached its full potential since he had come back to Teekon. "Do you remember me?"

It was his voice that finally clued Grayday in. He remembered sitting in a cave, their voices echoing off the cavern's walls. Moonlight had danced all around them. Anita had been to his right, and to the left had been -

"Phocion," said the man, the other's name finally coming back to him. "You were at Silvertip when I joined. But you didn't stay long after that."

He looked at the male, neither accusing nor welcoming. Simply wondering about the other's path, and how things might have gone if Grayday had left that quickly as well. Surely, things would be very different for him. Would he even have children yet?

Despite his neutral look, Phocion felt the all-too familiar twinge of regret and guilt at Grayday's words. Yes, he had left. . .at the tail end of a famine. After watching fellow packmates die, pups ordered to devour their dead mother's carcass, bones strewn about. . .  He knew that he shouldn't have left Silvertip, under any circumstances, much less the ones he found himself in all those seasons ago. He knew that.

"No, I didn't," he responded, gaze sweeping downward. He lifted his head and saw, in the corner of his eye, the shadow of that mountain in the near distance. "I was young, then, and didn't know what I wanted from life. I should have stayed."

He pointed his nose toward the plateau behind Grayday, a smile returning to his features once more. "You live here, now," he guessed, half-rhetorically. "This is your pack?"

Phocion wondered when Silvertip had disbanded and scattered to the winds--was it soon after his departure, or much later, and the echoes of it were still felt here? Where had Steady gone, or Krypton, or Ezekiel or. . .Anita? His mind settled on the last name with an internal sigh; he had betrayed her most of all by leaving. Did any of them even live, still?

The male didn't comment on his self-deprecation. Only Phocion knew what was best for himself, but Grayday had never disapproved of the male's decision to leave. Hopefully, he'd soon find the absolution he seemed to be seeking.

"It is," he replied with a dip of his head, glad for a more neutral topic. "After I had my first litter, my children and I ended up founding our own pack. This is Morningside."

Grayday's eyes were also drawn to the mountain, the graveyard. "Steady moved the pack to a valley to the east, and shortly after, died. Valette leads the pack, now. They call themselves Easthollow. It's thriving, and they are still good wolves," he explained, guessing that Phocion would be interested in this information. Easthollow was not always forgiving to deserters, but surely, after all this time, Phocion's departure would be water under the bridge. It'd been a different time, and every had been under vast and varying degrees of strain.

Steady. His heart sank like a stone in water as Grayday passed along the news of the alpha's passing. Steady had been a good man. Though Phocion had not gotten off on the best foot with him, they had soon bonded. . .and he would even go so far as to call Steady a friend, at their best.

Phocion would be sure to say a prayer for that noble man, a little later on.

"Valette," he echoed, face scrunching in concentration. Had she been among the Silvertip wolves, as well? He searched the recesses of his mind for the name, digging deep. A young, slim dark-furred wolf, who had sought a new home. . .maybe? "The name is familiar, for sure. I don't think I got to know her very well, though."

He dipped his head to Grayday, a smile returning to his features once more. "Congratulations on the children," he said warmly. Phocion had not yet had the opportunity to sire a litter of his own, but he was all too happy to celebrate when others had. His mind, though, quickly flipped back to the others he had known, so long ago.

"What of Krypton? Ezekiel? Anita?" He tried not to sound too eager. . .but he was curious, after all.

Grayday thanked the other for his well-wishes, though it was strange to be congradulated on something that had happened so long ago. It was just one of those things - catching up with old acquainances would always be a bit awkward. The male began to wonder what Phocion wanted from him, or if he had any purpose for remaining on Grayday's borders. What had he been doing so close?

"I don't know what happened to Anita," he sighed. "She left shortly after you, I think. It's difficult to remember. But Ezekiel is still there. Krypton... it seems she has recently disappeared as well." Grayday wondered what had happened to the dear woman. He still thought about her sometimes, when the nights were cold.

Everyone had scattered to the winds. He could not blame them for it, for hadn't he done the same thing, many seasons ago? Phocion nodded, sad to hear that Krypton had vanished. He had liked her very much. And Anita. . . What if she had gone to find him? Another wave of guilt washed over him once more at the thought.

"I'm heading east," Phocion said, thinking of what Grayday had told him about Silver--err, Easthollow's new location. "Perhaps I'll run into them there."

He dipped his head in a short bow. Grayday's time was probably valuable; he didn't want to waste it further. He himself had travelling to do--the night was still young. "It was good to see you again," Phocion said warmly. "I hope I see you in the future. Take care, Grayday."

With a wag of his bushy tail, he smiled and trotted off, the ghosts of his past nipping coolly at his ankles.

"Take care," Grayday echoed, a bit bemused at the whole situation. How strange to think that Silvertip had been only a year or two ago. He was at such a different stage in life, and with none of the same wolves. Seeing Phocion had certainly been a blast from the past, but he'd never known the other male very well.

Now, if Chaska came back - that'd be crazy.

Chuckling to himself, Grayday returned to his kingdom. He had bigger fish to fry.