Phantom Hollow slow news day

He might've been missing an eye (and probably some of his brain) but there was nothing intimidating about Titmouse; he'd bulked up considerably since coming to Blackfeather but his vested interest in poppies had kept him slim. He was a tall creature, like his father. And, like Peregrine, he would've cut an impressive figure if his life had unfolded differently. Instead Titmouse was a creature of long lines and strange silhouettes. He was sluggish; his head pounded with a rolling migraine that made his belly twist and churn like a self-contained sea. The boy was hungover and mentally distant, thinking of his aches and pains, but mostly the ache in his chest - his heart - because he was missing his other half so desperately.

The young man didn't notice the other wolf for a long time. Even after they called out - he heard the voice, stirred a little bit with a lift of his head, but when he turned his face to try and survey the forest for the root of the sound it was like he'd forgotten partway. But the scent, feral with sharp notes of pine and spruce, stopped his mind from wandering for a few minutes. He opened his mouth to call out and managed to wheeze some sort of dry, zombie-like sound. It was the best he could do.