Hushed Willows we're stuck in slow life.

Hours spent tracking something seemed to pass a bit easier. On the hunt, he noticed all the absence just a little less, and on the tries when success burst warm upon his senses, it was worth it just a little more. He too could feel himself starting to get a little better, or at least it was progress somehow. He missed less. His trails went warm instead of cold more often. But this still didn't feel like it could amount to enough. Not yet.

He was spending his afternoon scoping down familiar paths beneath the willows, and soon, he found himself beginning to anticipate the dusk when he might be able to creep on a few deer he's seen before, but otherwise, his focus is widespread because he still searched. It's something he's used to. However Harlyn's voice stops him and his ears quiver up tall. Rabbits, deer, pheasants, any and all of it that he may be looking to put his nose to take a step back. He wasted no time adjusting course to jog himself right to her. When he slows, it's only once he saw her, and his lean frame glided down submissively, then forward to lick her chin happily. "Mom, hi," he greeted when he pulled away, readily falling into step beside her now that he was done with that.

Undeniably, he is filled with joy to see her up and traveling around more finally. She's been down for so long that he'd started to get used to it being that way -- as much as he hated to. Worry hovers around there too, because he is still massively uncertain, and he reminded himself of it when he started to wonder why she's called him.