Lost Creek Hollow i know what i was feeling, but what was i thinking

kind of negating my own loose timeline for this, but i totally intended to reply sooner kris! *kicks work*

In spite of the snowfall that had cast a palpable blanket of silence over the Hollow, Mordecai felt a certain unease in its midst. It was hardly from his own experiences, but rather of what lied on the horizon ahead. It was more than clear to him now that Harlyn's suspicions were correct and for him that merely meant that his life was about to take a direction he was not at all familiar with. It wasn't an unpleasant turn of events, but the timing could have been better. They were doing well in spite of all other things and the bitter cold would only last so long.

And for a change of pace for once, he felt himself willing to tackle the borders that others had so laboriously tended to. He was far from one hundred percent himself, in a way still adjusting to the minor and major changes that had come to him. His shoulder no longer gave him the troubles that he had fretted over and the loss of the eye was now proving to be the more tedious of things to adjust to. It left him wary, not being able to retain the same depth and field of view he had always had and even now in the forestry alone he strained his hearing to pick up on anything out of the ordinary that could have so easily approached what he felt was a useless side.

Of course, he hadn't needed to strain to hear the pained call of Ilya over the silence. No, that had come loud and clear and gave him purpose to propel himself towards the borders he had so readily sought. With the raided cache and their accumulating misfortune at hand, he did not hesitate to draw near to her location swiftly. Though his approach slowed long before he spied out her dark pelt against the snowy backdrop, he was not quiet as he closed in. By then the smell of blood had flooded his senses and just beyond the graze of her own body he recognized Luke. No hesitation lingered as he summoned @Harlyn to come forth, his own solitary gaze shifting to linger on the tarnished coat of his companion with anxious concern.

He whined, so evidently pained by the sight that the only gesture of hesitation he carried was the uncertainty whether or not to round in on him. He was in bad shape no doubt, the wounds he bore a mess but not quite as fresh as his own. It had been of wonder to him where Luke had gone, but he had not expected him to come back in such a state as the one that left him presently disheveled at their doorstep. Instead he forfeit drawing near to bring his gaze to level out and skim through their surroundings — would the cougar have followed him back? The snow would not hide the feline this time he felt, but he found nothing that suggested the sort either.