Blacktail Deer Plateau I will remember your face

Malachi heard a ringing in his ears - a dangerous quiet. His bustling mind streamlined to one desire: run, scour the pluming smoke, find Dante, find Osprey. Do anything but watch and wait. But he imagined the swift sting of the fire, the choking smoke, and his compulsion surfaced only as a tremble in his legs. The flames were not a predator they could fight: they were at the mercy of the storm, helpless to do anything but watch and wait.

At the words of both his superiors, Malachi felt the weight of exhaustion slowly sink between his shoulders. Surviving the storm, ensuring the pack remained strong. That was their duty, and Malachi resigned with a bow of his head. But every step he took after Lasher and Mordecai felt wrong inside, and all that stopped him from tearing the other way was the vivid reminder of how the trees looked when the fire stole their own life away. The rain held the balance now, and with a final glance at the starless sky, Malachi tore his gaze to the passing land, searching for anyone who had heard Lasher's rally call and keeping himself from looking back.