Redtail Rise while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first

Aventus dropped his haunches to the ground while his voice wound away on the breeze, seizing the opportunity to rest his bones. He had come a long way, and spent as little time resting as possible in between. It showed in the gaunt curve of his stomach and the hungry light in his eyes. Nothing a meal or three and a good night's rest couldn't fix.

These hopes, Ancelin dashed almost immediately upon arrival. Aventus would have praised the boy's silent approach, but he was given no opportunity to so much as appraise his son before Ancelin was spilling the beans.

Atreus was gone.

Aventus felt his emotions drain through him like iced water, with fear chief among them. It was a conscious effort to keep his tongue still, for his first impulse was to demand to know why Atreus had gone. He knew Ancelin would have told him if he knew the answer to that, and he didn't have to ask. He knew Atreus was unsettled and he suspected the reason already. In failing to find their mother, Aventus yearned to be a better father, and Atreus' disappearance showed him plainly that he must be. Losing his temper with his remaining son was not the way to show that. He was angry, yes, that in his life nothing could ever be simple — to lose his mother, his father, his mate, and now this?! But he could not take it out on his sons. He had given Atreus no reason to want to stay, and Ancelin had done nothing wrong.

Aves dragged himself to his feet and stepped closer to his son, reaching out, hesitating, balking, and finally smoothing his muzzle across Ancelin's brow in a halting and uncertain motion. We will find him, he promised, glad that words themselves did not betray him where affection almost always did. Did he say anything before he left that might suggest why, or where he might have gone?