Lion Head Mesa lectus

The man spoke of his ventures, saying that there hadn’t been a war, only a fleeing monster and those who followed her. Crowfeather nodded his head solemnly at the thought. He knew that he did not understand the importance of it, only that it had returned Germanicus to him. Nothing else mattered, or so he thought.

The eagle’s wet figure moved closer and settled into the room, near the shadow. Crowfeather inched toward him with a wince. His slender muzzle reached out tentatively, sniffing at the man’s figure with great care. The dark wolf prodded with his nose and then drew his gaze up to meet the man’s. He was so grateful that Germanicus had returned. He did not know what he could say, how he could convey this without seeming like a child who had grown homesick.

You are not injured? You- You’re safe? he asked shakily. The lantern glow of his eyes was fixed on the older man’s features. He looked as though he had aged, like the months had drawn life from him. Crowfeather wished he knew why.