where we got left to run

Scimitar answered and stepped aside to give her a better look of the timid stray. Bazi stared intently at the boy, studying his every awkward angle. He couldn't be older than two or three twists of the moon. "Where?" she asked of her mate, taking a swift step forward to sniff at the aura of scent around the child. Nothing particularly strange or notable about it. Just earth, and the still milky scent of pup. Bazi flattened one ear and refocused her attention on Scimitar. "Doesn't he remember where he's from? We can't .." The mother cleared her throat, searching for more appropriate words. "He belongs to someone. What happens if they track him here?"