Lion Head Mesa All the proud hours I hold are around you

Crowfeather burned as he pressed against the dark woman. He did not like it. He did not like having to rely on her for support. The shadow did not know her. She was sharp with her instruction and quick with her work. It was clear that she took her job seriously, for she put great effort into it. Still, the dark young wolf did not know her, and he did not want to be forced to rely on her.

As she guided him out of the room, away from his resting grounds, he could smell the air from the room. She led him, slowly, toward a place where he could sit and watch something other than the confines of Germanicus’ former quarters. The snow on the mesa stole his breath.

Tavina said she would step away for a moment.

Crowfeather sat, sides heaving from the effort of the walk. His eyes searched the grounds beyond. He imagined Germanicus approaching in long strides. He saw the sharpness of the man’s eyes, the familiar grey upon his muzzle. The shadow felt his heart grow heavy.