Hushed Willows Beautiful Sunrise Mother May I

He had followed father’s scent trail to what felt like the edge of the world, but even that had not been enough. Father was gone. He could not even feel the vibrations of his paws through the earth.

And he wondered if maybe he had returned to the Weald, though his heart knew he had gone to look for mother. That’s who he had been looking for, too.

Still, Melaneus retraced his steps back to the Weald. Tried to, anyway. But no one had prepared him for what the world out here would ever be like. He could follow the wind and move with the shadows and feel the feet of rabbits move in tunnels underground, but he could not tell one forest from another, one mountain from the next.

That’s how he found himself in this ethereal place.

Melaneus was used to the fog lined trees of the Weald. These made him pause. Long branches reached down to the earth, bent over, as though old or crumbled up and weeping on the ground.

He did not feel any great stir of emotion as he watched them, but something rather soft pained his heart. For once the boy of shadows sat himself on the ground, and lingered freely in the subtle light of sunrise that broke through the frail cracks between their leaves.