Moonspear house of leaves

That winter would have been his second. The first was endured primarily by his youth; they were protected by their mother and father, only barely tested by the elements. Atlas had thought for several months what the arrival of winter would mean for him and for the skills he had learned in his first year and beyond. More than this, the dark young wolf knew that the years beyond that moment would bring the possibility of a mate and even children of his own. These were thoughts that had only entered his mind once or twice and never for long. The idea of a family that was his felt too foreign – too foolish to be a possibility just yet.
 
“That will happen sooner than we think then, won't it? The rains have already made everything much cooler. How can we prepare for the coming months?”
 
The young shadow was troubled by his worries.
 
There was stress in the edges of his words that grated against the back of his throat. Atlas could not even fathom the idea that the storms might never cease. He did not believe that he would miss the scorching summer sun, but he was certain he would have given anything to see a day like that before the snow fell on their lands. The yearling searched the features of his mother with thin lips and a brow that had knit only enough to see the strain on his face.