Lost Creek Hollow The Wind In The Canyon

Running with Sandulf reminded the shadow of his hunts with Germanicus. He could not help that he wished the silver eagle was there, with them. He knew that it could not be so. Crowfeather wondered how long the yellow-eyed Imperator’s mark would hang over his head. Such heartache, and he felt like it would never leave him. Each reminder of their separation was a scratch at the scab.

The scent of weasel did not escape the dark tripod. He moved close to Sandy, whiskers twitching with anticipation. The young figure hoped that they would be successful. It would lift his spirits, even just a little. The other man seemed intent on seeking them out, too. Crowfeather stayed near, but watched carefully so that he would not miss the signal from his hunting partner.