Stone Circle Once there was a way to get back home

He’s being watched.

There’s a pair of eyes upon a hill mapping his ascent, nose swiveling in wonder.
She does not attend his call, does not make it her duty to receive visitors to their land.

Her charmless vibrato leaves much to be desired. She’d sooner make enemies of roving beasts than bedfellows.

But in this empty stretch of time it is apparent no one else from the pack is coming. With a snort she rises and parts the mist towards the-

child?

A teary-eyed boy with a plaited mane.
She holds the stranger in a reproachful glare and gives a customary lift of wintery hackles.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be out galavanting all by your lonesome?”