Wapun Meadow there's more to me then death / disaster

It was his undeniable love for his stolen son that set him off away from within the borders of Easthollow, his determination to continue searching in hopes that somehow, the boy may have escaped the dark woods and those bloody trails that marked it. The pale wolfdog stalked the meadow, fiery gaze scanning every inch of the land in fear he might miss a sign, a faded scent he could follow. For Cyron had never been one to make much noise, and with his small frame he could be difficult to spot.

Illecebra was home once more, and it had sent another surge of hope that if she had made it, Cyron and Rowana might still be out there too - he clung tightly onto this thought, this belief. He caught the scent of a wolf, and for a moment his heart began racing but alas, as he nosed through the snow he discovered the aroma to be of an unrelated stranger, perhaps a lone wolf travelling across the valley. He told himself silently that he should not get his hopes up so fast, and yet still he felt the disappointment weigh in his chest like a heavy stone.

Mawk continued moving, paws not having felt the cold for some time now, and after he began to feel weary and distraught. He had been preparing to return to his home but the scent that drifted his way caused his blood to boil and his face to set in a furious snarl. The scout whipped around with his tail lashing, but as he caught no sight of a Blackfeather wolf his features softened and confusion momentarily passed over his expression. He could not help the burning curiousity that perked his ears forward, tail nosing through the snow again and then back in the air as he attempted to distinguish where the scent had come from - there. Though he had no figure in sight to target, he followed what he could of the scent, brows furrowing.

What he came upon shocked him beyond belief, and as his eyes widened he felt his heart hammer against his chest... The small grey pup was still on the snow, clearly having collapsed and lacking the energy to lift itself up. Mawk lowered his head and gently nudged the youngster to see if it was alive, and his suspicions about the identity of the boy were confirmed - it was Cyron, he was sure. His boy... was alive. Reeking of Blackfeather, but alive. With rapid breathing, he attempted to draw the small figure closer to warm him slightly. He'd bring him back to Easthollow and care for him there, but he had to be certain his son would make it there.