Sleepy Fox Hollow I wanna introduce you to my kinfolks, to my old friends

Hope you don't mind me?

Famine. A trembling earth and falling rocks. Argent had questioned his mother if the powers above were angered with them for leaving Stigmata behind and had regretted the moment the worst left his lips at the flash of pain in her eyes at the mention of his fathers name. She tried to mask it best she could—but the withering away of her once resplendent form was a giveaway that more than the famine had struck her down.

So Argent had busied himself, trying to learn how to make himself useful. With no game to hunt, Stigmata’s youngest brood lacked the opportunity to hunt with the pack as normal youths would, and so the silver boy had strayed from Diaspora’s claim, scouting out the nearby lands to see if there was anything of use to his pack.

There hasn’t been, and the days stretched on until his pack’s scent had faded from him.

Coming home empty-handed was a bitter acceptance the young silver arrow had come to terms with. Sleepy Fox Hollow was a place he had yet to truly explore, and so as he came back to its borders, his large paws going to cross the threshold, did he see what appeared to be Mahler from afar—until closer inspection revealed a far more feminine form.