The Sentinels From the Abyss it calls me

Still Caracal said nothing on the subject of his own wandering feet, though he wondered what prompted Gunnar to make that particular remark. He’d left his own family too, so who was to say he was faring any better? His lips pressed together.

They parted again when Gunnar mentioned three disasters in a row. What was a draught? He had never seen fire for himself, though he knew about it from some wiser wolf or another. Caracal had even seen other places like this, charred beyond recognition.

I don’t know that word: ‘draught.’ What’s it mean? the yearling queried.

When his companion explained, he scrunched his face and peered in the direction of the nearby ocean, wondering how that was possible. How was any of this possible? He didn’t doubt Gunnar’s story, he just thought it was unbelievably unfortunate that so many terrible things had happened to this place.

Despite himself, he found himself asking a different question a beat later. You say you’ve spent your whole life exploring, never settling. Has that been… I don’t know, like… fulfilling? Like, do you regret not settling down and all that?