Lion Head Mesa Empty rooms are honest places

For a Mr. @Gucci, or anyone else in the (current) Gucci Gang.

Tamar had said that it would be some time before he would be able to walk. Crowfeather had withered at such news. The severity of his injuries had not sunk in. The fact that he had lost many of his memories had only helped him to feel that he’d be back on his paws in no time.

The days passed and the dark wolf remained resting in Germanicus’ living quarters. He’d been gone long enough that his scent no longer filled the room. Even the furs that had been arranged there only smelled of herbs and poultices. Crowfeather had found himself pressing his nose to them, trying to see if he could sniff out a hint of the silver eagle’s familiar fragrance. The remnants of Germanicus’ last visit had all but disappeared. The shadow did not know what he was supposed to do with himself.

There was word that he would be getting a companion for a short time. Crowfeather had not listened to much of what his visitors said. His mind was fixed on a point in the future when he could leave Akashingo and venture to the canyon with Germanicus, to see what he had built.

On that day, he rested on the bedding of furs and gazed at the entrance to the sleeping quarters. The yearling’s features were sour and forlorn. He wondered if he would have company beyond Tamar changing his wrappings and applying her herbs. It did not seem likely.