Lost Creek Hollow don't you weep and don't you worry

Though the season of winter had passed unceremoniously, there were still bouts of coldness that dared to linger.  Yet in spite of that chill that greeted him both day and night, the flowers prospered and launched themselves headway into bloom.  That could not have been said of what was quickly becoming of the pack he and Harlyn had founded and if inward feelings could conjure enough strength to hold fast to the weather, then perhaps Mordecai himself was reason for the lasting chill.

Their numbers had faltered once again, though he did not entirely attribute it to inaction or lack thereof.  Ilya had perished, Luke had spirited away mysteriously, and the cougar still plagued and lurked through their ranks still.  He could not, and tried not to, fault those that had fled from their ranks.  Whatever luster the territory had held for him was absent, much like his priority to be out there and among his wolves.

But the borders were still tended to, he still partook in the spirit of the hunt.  It just seemed better somewhere along the line to focus on the core of their pack — his family.  Like the flowers, his children prospered and grew astonishingly.  It was as though for each new week there were new words and worlds to explore, questions to be stumbled upon and answered.  He did not lurk far from the den at their most active.

So when the first tinges of nightfall descended down upon the valley and the hollow itself, Mordecai dared to venture a bit further out.  @Harlyn was bound to be near and the time had come that it was her company that he sought in their role reversal.

nathaniel rateliff — i've been failing