Shadewood The stars, they make me wonder so

your writing is beautiful, i just wanted to let you know~ <3 also 'turo's hunt failed

 

As he often did, Arturo found his thoughts pulling towards the children and lover he had spoke his goodbyes too, though given the famine that the pestilence of locusts had left in their wake made the Fearghal monarch intensely glad that none had followed him — unaware as he was of the presence of not one but two of his children. To know this hunger ...it was not anything that he would want his children to know. If there was anything good and selfless about him it had indisputably became his children with their birth; as it would always remain so for them ...and the future litters he sired into the world. He had wanted to be the father to them that he'd never had in Cynbel. The truth was stark and harsh for Arturo: while he had undeniably known of the coyote that had aided in his creation he hadn't met him until he was an adult and it had been nothing short of disappointing. Cynbel had not been loving, had not showed an ounce of love for his bastard. In some ways, that had helped Arturo — if not to be a better man, then to, more importantly: be a better father.

He'd been scrounging up what meager meals he could manage, all of which were exactly that: meager. Humbling and utterly humiliating when they failed — and sometimes they did fail. His intended dinner — a small songbird — had managed to fly away before he could catch it and the gangster sovereign knew he would go hungry for the rest of the night. His energy needed to be conserved, which did not allow him the luxury of hunting until he caught something. He was not so accustomed to accepting defeat but this was not a matter of pride. This was a matter of playing the game of survival smart, even if it meant nursing wounded pride for a time being.

Arturo had not been idle as he moved through the skeletal remains of the Tuktu Hinterlands, but there was only so much he could accomplish during the asperity of the famine. He could not adequately choose a territory he deigned to claim — at least not wisely — nor could he promise anything. The herds had fled to find their food and those that had remained ...well they would starve, too. Still, he lingered and still he kept moving towards his goal, believing without much proof that this famine could not last forever. Eventually, greenery and life would have to return to the Wilds: that was the beauty of nature. It rebuilt itself, even after inevitable death.

A canine silhouette, against the towering tree painted in the myriad colors of dusk as it worked on it's siege upon the sky, gradually swallowing the last remnants of day and engulfing them in the velveteen colors of night was enough to catch the Fearghal's attention, his fiery orange-red eyes studying the indiscernible shadow with consideration; but the shadow was not what spurred the coywolf boldly forward. It was the scent. Her scent, carried by the soft breeze that moved without resistance through the skeletal branches. As familiar as his own heartbeat to him, even without the Hollow's scent upon her fur. His eldest daughter: the only one of his and Duana's children to take his melanistic coloring. She was not a perfect match to his unique patterning or coat mixture, bearing some of her mother's own, but she was closer than any of her siblings. A kind of mini-me. When he had spoken his goodbyes to his (now ex) lover and his children that had remained (for Bowie had left the Hollow before Arturo) he had thought he would never see them again. It had been a possibility that he had accepted with a heavy heart — but they were adults and their lives were their own to live and he had never once considered forcing them either way.

“Cearney,” Arturo nearly choked upon his not-so-little girl's name, unable to help the doubt that crept into his mind wondering if she was an illusion or if she was truly here with him, stopping as he drew near, not wanting to shatter the illusion if his hunger was driving him to madness.