The Sunspire I should be wiser.

The day was almost over. The evening sky had cast the mountain in to a dreary almost-darkness and he could spy a few stars trying to break through the cloud cover, but then the clouds were always drifting and collecting, and the mountain's forests were of no help. Screech had never taken much of an interest in the stars before. He felt the chill in the air, like a storm was on its way, and scoffed, idling in his thoughts. He had taken to wandering in the parts of the territory where he knew nobody had ventured; the boy would scout the area for scents and depart as soon as any hint of Terance or Seabreeze popped up, and grew speculative of the rest. It wasn't until he discerned the scent of @Rannoch in the air that he paused, stared skyward, then deviated his path.

The alpha seemed to be alone — perhaps he was doing the same as Screech, and nursing his wounds. Counting his losses. As the silver boy came upon the scene he spied a canine figure and assumed it was his old friend, and found that cold sensation of the wind had penetrated his thinning winter coat; he felt it down to the core of his being, through his bones and deep in to his heart. A glacial shroud. But the boy coughed a sound towards the figure all the same, and drew close.