Firefly Glen some place we called home

Feel free to bite Cypress. He’s taking liberties.

Cypress was never too far away from Rannoch and Rian. Although he was less likely to initiate interaction or conversation with other wolves — including those closest to him — he was a constant presence in the background. He materialized from the shadows just in time to hear and see the last vestiges of composure and strength crumble from his older brother’s stocky form, and his heart wrenched painfully in his chest. Air heaved from his lungs in a heavy sigh and then surged back in through clenched teeth as he exchanged a worried glance with Rannoch and then slunk forward to approach Rian’s left side. His movements were tentative, the carriage of his body low and easy, as he settled down like a stylized Anubis sphinx in the mud beside the O’Malley boy. It was risky to do so; Cypress didn’t know how Rian would react to being crowded right now. He refrained from touching his cousin for a long, pregnant moment. He didn’t have any placating words to say. In his heart, “Your siblings aren’t gone,” was what chimed the loudest — but the words stuck in his craw lest they be taken offensively.

Then he did touch Rian, having reached a level of comfort with the jade-eyed hunter that was only paralleled by Cypress’ relation to his littermate. If the boy allowed it, he made to turn his head and drape his neck across the burly chocolate and espresso shoulders. “We’re with you, Rian,” he said simply, having decided on this revised version of what he wanted to say in his heart. For better or for worse, Rian was stuck with his adopted brothers for as long as he would tolerate them — and given Cypress’ obsessive nature, maybe even after that.