Neverwinter Forest on a black throne reigns upright

As the days wore ever onward toward spring, Rian was spending more time away from the central hub of the pack to avoid the oppressive fog that blinded him and stole the air from his lungs. Ondine's rise had lashed new wounds into the boy when he could hardly bear the weight of the previous hurts. She wanted him to be subserviant, and somewhere in the vast darkness he'd acknowledged her attempts at making amends. Also present in that pit was the idea that he loved his mother, and his siblings, who were now only represented as vague shadows materializing in and out on the fringes of his consciousness. A tendril of thought often supplied the memory of their blood connection—they loved him! However there was no distinction between them and the strange ghosts that haunted the world behind closed eyes. 

He moved mechanically through the mire of the eastern borders, moving just for the sake of movement, with no real direction or purpose and entirely engrossed in the complexities of his depression. Same as always. Occasionally there was a pull strong enough to draw his consciousness to the outside world again, but the incidents were growing increasingly scarce—entangled and twisted in the labyrinth of his mind, Rian lacked the energy for the world that only brought him hurt and heartache. So he patrolled if only to calm the faint, nagging tick of instinct that told him he should contribute to cement his station and ensure his survival.

Crrrack-crunch!

Rian came to a halt and his ears cupped towards the sound—snap-crunch! He started, and swiveled his head towards the noise. His eyes stared blankly as they slowly refocused, and his mind emerged from the depths to take control of his body. With a quick shake of his pelt, followed by a deep inhale of the drifting winds, Rian returned to the world. His entire demeanor transformed—his movements were fluid now instead of measured and his long strides devoured the yards between him and the source of the noise.

A strangled noise cut between the crunch of ice as he rounded a thicket of gnarled trees and came upon Cypress. The younger boy was unmistakable even now that he was well on his way to adulthood. A dusken, midnight shade cloaked his form, with lighter sweeps of charcoal brushed across his upper half. He cut an impressive figure—sharp, angular, and tall. Taller now than Rian who swallowed reflexively against his suddenly parched throat. A tremor raced down from the base of his skull only once as he fought the anxiety that threatened to consume him. Cypress had once represented a happier time but he knew, logically, the corvid boy had suffered the most of all from the misfortune plaguing their pack and that was likely no longer the case.

"... Cypress?" He called out softly while his ears slicked back uncontrollably, putting his uncertainty on full display.