Deepwood Weald The sign she'd waited for in skies of grey,

Miriam nodded toward him and drifted away as well. She did not realize he was staying close, nor' giving glances. Her focus was on her son, and she constantly called out for him, "Asmoses!" with a hope, and a dread to her voice. She looked under every branch, into the bushes, and her nose so close to the ground, it almost seemed like she would swallow the earth itself.

"I don't smell anything," her ears flattened as she softly said with a tearful expression. They only just started, but there was no scent, no sign, no other wolf, "where..."