Hoshor Plains Dust to the wind, Blood of my blood...

A wild Zoratto appears!

Zoratto hated himself more than ever. He was already disgusted at his attraction men, whether or not Azzaro accepted him or not, but now? After running away from the khalas that had embraced him? Raised him to an adult? How could he forgive himself?

The young boy slunk back into the scorched territory, looking with pale, lost eyes at the ruins of the plains. Charred corpses of bison, smaller canines and other creatures were strewn randomly across the blackened fields, and each time he passed a fox or a coyote, he whispered a gentle thanks to the Rhoa that it had not been one of their own.

Zoratto froze when he saw two lupine shapes in the distance. Excited, Zoratto trotted towards them, then broke into a sprint when he recognized Rakharo's pelt. All was not lost then! As the pair grew closer, Zoratto slowed as the full scene was laid out to him. Behind Rakharo and the older woman, was a body. Charred and black, but it was a wolf's body. "Oh, no." He whispered to himself, praying that it wasn't Azzaro. Rhoa be damned if it was him...!

The Rhoa was equally merciful and cruel. It was not Azzaro. But from the look in Rakharo's eyes, it was worse. Lavakho. Zoratto stood away from the pair, giving Rakharo space in his grief. His ears twitched slightly as he caught the Khaleen's words. The Rhoa was, indeed.