November 27, 2019, 10:12 AM
(This post was last modified: November 27, 2019, 10:20 AM by Dragomir.)
He'd intended to scout Bramblepoint again today, but after encountering a collection of unwanted scents and investigating them for a short time, he'd been forced to change his course. It wasn't like with Mal's claim; there were multiple wolves here and even though Moonspear practically owned Bramblepoint, he would be stupid to go in and confront them alone. Instead he cantered along the rocky shores of the lake that claimed the body of his father, resolutely refusing to look at the water itself.
Just as with all other days, there were no hints of Isilmë's scent along the lakeside. Not even an errant tuft of silver fur remained of his littermate. Dragomir's hope had all but run out by now; his excursions were always conducted with a woodenness that suggested this was merely a routine. Like patrolling the borders, or rising in the early morning to take a piss. He no longer believed his sister could be found, but he would not give up completely. His role models for commitment had mostly been horrible at following through on it so far; Dragomir would be better.
The question remained: had she left of her own accord, seized by the same careless disregard for others and wanderlust that had been their birthright, or had she been taken like him? Nowadays he searched for signs of blood and struggle, an indication that she hadn't chosen to leave him too. He wouldn't find her, and his heart broke with that knowledge, but the least he could do was try to figure out what happened. He felt terrible to hope she had been taken, but for Dragomir, somehow that was less frightening than the alternative.
When half an hour had passed with nothing to show for it, Dragomir at last faced the water. He could almost swear it was red with blood in the depths, but that was just a trick of the light.
There was, of course, no magic response. After a few long beats, Dragomir tore himself away and turned back toward Moonspear. At least there was something he could report.
Just as with all other days, there were no hints of Isilmë's scent along the lakeside. Not even an errant tuft of silver fur remained of his littermate. Dragomir's hope had all but run out by now; his excursions were always conducted with a woodenness that suggested this was merely a routine. Like patrolling the borders, or rising in the early morning to take a piss. He no longer believed his sister could be found, but he would not give up completely. His role models for commitment had mostly been horrible at following through on it so far; Dragomir would be better.
The question remained: had she left of her own accord, seized by the same careless disregard for others and wanderlust that had been their birthright, or had she been taken like him? Nowadays he searched for signs of blood and struggle, an indication that she hadn't chosen to leave him too. He wouldn't find her, and his heart broke with that knowledge, but the least he could do was try to figure out what happened. He felt terrible to hope she had been taken, but for Dragomir, somehow that was less frightening than the alternative.
When half an hour had passed with nothing to show for it, Dragomir at last faced the water. He could almost swear it was red with blood in the depths, but that was just a trick of the light.
I'm sorry, dad,he whispered, pulling back his ears and letting his lips and head droop down.
I'm doing my best but I just can't find her.
There was, of course, no magic response. After a few long beats, Dragomir tore himself away and turned back toward Moonspear. At least there was something he could report.
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