Bearclaw Valley keep moving on

The dull ache of his broad back was new. Revui was used to some discomfort: the hitch that occassionally caught in his stride, his ever-present hunger, a cold sort of frustration that persisted in his waking hours. This was different. He felt it spreading like hot oil across his skin where his brother had torn in to him. It was a healed wound, the flesh puckered and knotted as a scar, but now it made itself known.

He had been idly patrolling a new swath of the valley hewn with linden trees and briar that tugged at his coat; his stony silhouette dwarfed by a bruised sky which heralded future rain. The air was growing thick with it.

At first he paused to watch as another wolf worked. He was silent - with nothing on his face betraying judgement or thought - as slowly, Revui recognized the loud boy from the border. His lingering cost him, however. The seeping warmth to the old wound demanded his attention, so he turned to glimpse his hip, straining as a stallion might while trying to banish an itch they could not reach. He spun in place - one rotation, partway a second, before halting to snort.