Blacktail Deer Plateau tumble down

A faint grin traced his lips at Eilidh's reprimand and he complied, more than ready to turn his thoughts away from the painful memories better left behind. This was his home now, and his life was with the wolves of the Plateau. Not with the Vale, not with Duskfire. He could never outrun his shame, but as the days passed, he hoped his guilt would fade - though a part of him felt guilty for thinking this. But there were better things to ponder - things more tangible and pressing - and he found his desire to follow Eilidh void, for once, of hesitance.

He settled a few paces from her, and his grin grew sheepish. In the midst of life's burdens, the mention of fun sparked distant memories, ones he had neglected to keep. Hunting with his siblings, the nights they'd snuck out of their den to tell stories by the starlight, the tricks they'd played on one another - and a huff of a laugh escaped him, though his heart twisted in his chest. But it was a different sorrow - a good sadness, unburdened by disgrace. He couldn't find the words, so he turned his focus to trades instead. "Tracking? Well, it's a good thing to learn, even if it isn't what you spend most of your time learning. My brother was a great tracker, but I was more of a sentry - what you call wardens, I think." That was what Tyrr had called them, anyway. Those who defended the pack before threats could find their way in - but Malachi turned his mind from that. "But my father was teaching me the skills of a Chronicler before I left home. The recording and recounting of history, and the importance of remembering and learning from the past." And maybe that was why he found it so hard to forget.