Shadowwyn Moor It came gently calling

It had been a long time since the young man had wandered from the Strath.

A stiffness still laced his side where the bison had struck him, and he stopped for more breaks than he knew he would have a few months ago, before the accident. And still, he felt good to be up and about again, more himself, after many days of feeling like a stranger in his own skin.

A stranger in his skin, and in the pack. Time had given him eyes to see how very different they were from him, and though he felt guilty even thinking of leaving his mother there, those thoughts brought him out here today.

He breathed in the bitter wind strewn about along the plain. Mounded snow marked the contour of fallen trees amongst the rocks. He stepped further onto the moor, and his head turned when he caught the silhouette of another against the sun staines sky.

Oh! Hello miss, he said, and startled with a laugh. Her fur almost melded into the frosted earth, you think the wind knocked those trees down?

Forgetting traditional introductions, he danced his words to the conversation that always mattered more: hypotheses and questions relevant to no one, probably, but his own curious mind.