Altar of Twilight A shooting star

The flatter terrain was easier to journey, easier for the dark wolf to soar across. Crowfeather did not have many talents but running away had always been a necessity. Necessity turned skill, or merely a coward’s strength, he was not certain.

Running from Germanicus came with its own reward. For the dark seer knew that the silver soldier would be there. He no longer worried quite as much that the stalwart wolf would vanish unexpectedly. Crowfeather still feared being abandoned, but the nagging worry had receded to the back of his mind.

Flying like a winged crow across the earth, the thin figure lifted his head and barked back to Germanicus. Just ahead was the start of woodland, the thick of trees. Crowfeather would cease his sprinting when they had reached its edge.