The Heartwood Tréximo

Heavy clouds created a dismal backdrop over the mountains to the west. The white of snow had blanketed the range, stretching from the grounds where the rock shifted to the sea to the southern peaks that were covered in overcast. The flatter terrain that led away from the Sunspire into the patchy woodland had been quiet. The only sound that signaled life was that of snow crunching beneath paws.

Antigone lifted his red head up and squinted back over his shoulder. He did not know if he would return to Epoch. He did not know if he could. Shame gnawed at his belly. He thought of the look on his mother’s face when she had asked him about Meadow. Anger resurfaced and huffed an exasperated breath through his nose.

The young wolf prowled further west.