Lion Head Mesa lectus

The soldier’s absence had been felt deeply by the shadow. He did not like feeling that he had been left behind. He liked even less that he felt he was a stranger in Akashingo. Crowfeather had been there before, but his memories of the place had been stolen from him. In his sleep, he had managed to recover only fractions. It had not been enough for him to understand.

Germanicus’ voice drew the dark wolf up, alert. The boy’s eyes searched the den and landed on the greyed figure of the older man, dripping from the rain, weary in every inch of his being. Crowfeather softened, his tail thumped against the ground. The shadow gritted his teeth against the tears that pricked his eyes. He cursed himself internally, begging that he take control of the feelings that spun within him.

Germanicuss, he whistled the man’s name in a croaking voice.