Bearclaw Valley Far across the blue waters

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smoke broke through the last line of trees with the boy tucked close behind, the air shifting cold and hollow as bearclaw valley opened beneath them. a wide, scarred stretch of earth. quiet in the way old wounds are quiet. the wind carried nothing gentle.

he stopped on the ridge, shoulders stark against the gray sky, breathing in the land like he’d been expecting it. like it hadn’t surprised him in years.

this is it, he said, gravellow, not looking back at @Tzar.

the valley sprawled below— broken timbers, old paths, shadows that didn’t move right. smoke’s tail flicked once, a faint signal for the boy to stay tight.

---

they reached it. tzar knew they had reached bearclaw valley before smoke had announced it. it was familiar in the hazy memories of his early boyhood. it'd meant to be safe. fortified. until it hadn't been. until the land had turned against the wolves that had called it home, shattering his once idyllic life.

i recognize it, he's about to surge forward, to seek out what he can remember of the community den — determined to find something. anything. but the twitch of smoke's tail has tzar hesitating.

annoyance swells within tzar. what's wrong? he asks, peering 'round them. i don't smell any wolves.

---

smoke stood still as stone, eyes on the empty sprawl below. the wind carried nothing—no den-scent, no bodies, no living claim.

he flicked his tail once, sharp.

ain’t nobody here, he said, gravel-low. place’s a ghost town.

tzar surged, young and aching for answers, but smoke didn’t move. just held the ridge with him, letting the boy feel the truth of the silence. he'd be there for comfort if he wanted it.

---

how enlightening, drawls tzar, all thorny venom as his razor-sharp guard rises.

a ghost town.

...said as much, didn't i? he pushes forward, though every step further feels like an added weight, pressing against his chest, against his ribcage.

deeper and deeper.

each breath shallower and shallower.

until it is mechanical. paws following the familiar cut of land towards the ruins of the communal den, as if following the ghosts of his own past: a much smaller version of himself galloping clumsily at his mother's heels.

a brief moment of happiness before it was stolen from them.

---

his jaw worked once, tight, a swallow that scraped going down. the boy needed this — the seeing, the remembering, even if it hurt like hell. smoke stayed where he was, a dark anchor at the edge of the ruins, eyes never leaving tzar’s back.

go on, he murmured, barely more than breath.

then silence again. smoke held the valley behind him, watching the ghosts gather around the kid and making damn sure none of them reached out with teeth.

---

he doesn't stop until he finds where he is sure the entrance to the communal den is. or rather, was. jagged, massive rocks, overgrown with thick vines as the earth reclaimed it, block the entrance. and probably the cave-in went deeper.

impossible to survive.

tzar is numb, drawn to the moment of confusion and fear as towhee jr snatched him by the scruff and ran as far as her legs would take them.

he forgets that time exists until ghost lets out a low cry and nips lightly at his ear.

broken out of his reverie, he blinks and turns his back to it.

yeah, lets go. he turns to rejoin his companion, whatever hope he'd been clinging to crushed.