Lost Creek Hollow Here comes good news, here comes sorrow

Crowfeather listened with tall ears. His eyes did not flutter or shift from Sandy’s features. The man had opted to share a portion of himself with the young shadow. He had opened himself and had given a piece of his past.

In Sandulf’s answer was something of a response to Crowfeather’s next, unasked question. When the other man had finished speaking, the tripod felt heat rise from his neck. There was a familiar sensation pricking at the back of his eyes. The shadow might have cursed at himself if his company had differed. Instead, he clenched his teeth until he felt an ache in his jaw and he turned his watering eyes away from the soft glance of the other man.

Why are you so weak, Crowfeather?

How- his voice cracked pitifully. How do you make it stop?

The shadow could not meet Sandy’s eye. Every ounce of his body hurt with the effort to keep himself from crying.