Hushed Willows ἀνερρίφθω κύβος

By now, they must have all know he had gone after Eurycrates.

Teleklos had begun to imagine their disappointment, and found that regret came most bitter when he thought about his twin. What did he make of the AWOL status? What was he going through— while suffering the poet's absence? 

He shoved his doubts away. Their most savage warrior had been banished, and he had thought of it all as very unfair; for more than one reason. Of course, his opinion was permanently stained, like ink on parchment. He was biased in that he had always favored Eurycrates, over all wolves, and as much as he tried to conceal his reverence for the male, it had been gossip since they were young that Teleklos either wanted to be like his savage littermate or be with him.

Which one was he proving now?

The wolf shuddered, pausing in the lowlight to look over his shoulder.

He had tracked him as far as he could, but his brother's trail had been lost somewhere back along the chilling coast. It had forced Teleklos, for (likely) the second time in his life, to make a decision for himself.

He thought at first that he might to take up the tome of wanderers, but it took only a single day in the empty trench of fireflies to realize that purposelessness— the directionless plodding— did not exactly sit well with him. So, he came though a small strip of land, shouldered on either side by a steep ravine and an unfriendly-looking marsh, and he followed the strengthening scent of wolves.

Once or twice he called out, probing the area with cursory howls that heralded his arrival at their borders.

Title: "Let the die be cast"