Hushed Willows oh, where are you now, pussy willow that smiled on this leaf?

the concept of home was a foreign one. there was no one place that tugged at his heart. in all his travels, he'd not found a single shred of wistfulness for the teekon wilds. not one iota of homesickness.

but for her. . . cam missed his mother, more often than not.

he stopped at the border, staring up at the willows underneath whose boughs he'd been born. the rain fell softly, landing in crystalline droplets on his brow, his muzzle. it looked the same, felt the same — didn't smell the same, though, for what once was unoccupied land was now claimed once more.

lily's death had shaped his entire adolescence. loss was as big a part of his personality as anything else. she had been his first and greatest love, and she was buried here. he had come to honor her.

he was now an adult and much more aware of wolf norms and procedure than he once had been; there would be no foolish trespassing today. he howled for an audience, shifting his paws in mild impatience.

the willows brought memories, good and bad. he wanted to leave before the nightmares began.