Hushed Willows oh, it's definitely the end times

He turned again, this time to face back out at the path he had been on like his darker counterpart. Her words reached him with a turn of an ear and he found to some degree that he agreed. The weather was awful, but then again he had not been overly fond of the arrangements of the Crook either. Mordecai preferred the open air to rest beneath, at least if the weather permitted.

"Could always be worse," he said. "At least neither of us are out in the open valley with no trees." Out there, they probably would have made better lightning rods than wolves. Generally they had the sense to tuck away when the weather turned sour, and had things been a touch different Mordecai would have done it. But the necessity to find Pippin outweighed any concern he had for the elements. Even now, pausing for a little relief from the warm rain, he felt eerily guilty—was his son tucked away somewhere safe?

His solitary gaze wandered, this time to her. There was a note of familiarity about her and he was certain they had crossed paths before. But he hadn't bothered to learn her name, let alone strike a conversation. "You've been here a while? With the pack, I mean. Hopefully not under this tree the entire time." But maybe she had for all he knew.