Jade Fern Grove see how they run. see how they run

anyone!

His father's concerns about what he could and could not do anymore were echoed in the boy's chest. Anxiety gripped his heart like the cruel talons of a hawk clutching its prey, and ice cold dread was a constant presence in his spine. His father did not think he would even be able to work with his plants any more. His mother thought he would be fine. Swift did not know. His body was still, his head between his paws on the den floor, but his mind did not stop and his breathing on occasion would quicken with the burden of his emotions. His inner turmoil was ever bit as ugly as the trenches in his face and the gaping sockets where his eyes once were.

He sniffed loudly and tucked himself in a ball, drawing his legs tight against him and curling his tail around him. He became as small as he could as he fought with the dark thoughts that so freely invaded his mind. The darkest of them all was the worry that he would be exiled, for he could no longer train as a warden or a warrior as the pack had decided not so long ago would be required. He could not even hunt. All he had were his plants, if he even had them.

With his ears slicked to his skull, he laid there and fretted.