Deepwood Weald cross straight lines going where the wind blows

Bumping up to the present, for Grayday.

The resignation in the younger wolf's voice nearly broke his heart. He desperately wished there was something he could do to help. It seemed like the only thing he'd been able to do was waste the other male's time.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he said with feeling, leaning over to swipe his tongue over a patch of dirt on the boy's cheek. He wanted to take him home and clean him up. Maybe see if there were some scraps at the den he could have - even dry bones with a bit of grisle would be better than nothing. It was a tempting thought, never mind that he'd barely been accepted by the Silvertip Mountain pack. "I wish I could be more help. I'll stay with you until we can get some sustenance in you, if you don't mind..."

He trailed off, though, hearing some of the same sounds as his companion. His ears flicked in surprise as the pale little girl ghosted between the trees, and he wondered once again at the unearthly paleness of a white wolf's coat. So many lived here, for him to have never seen one before. Was it something about the land, or just his rotten luck?

The little shewolf smelled of other wolves, and Grayday took a huffy breath, searching for a familiar scent. Quickly determining that the girl hadn't been around his lost friend, he sat back and watched, content to let her approach in her own time.