Swiftcurrent Creek la neta

Silvertongue was curbed in her usual sass—a kiss planted upon his cheek as she insisted they would be safe and all would be well—he need not stress.

It was thoughtful of her—but his heart wrenched at the thought of pulling his kids from their home—their safe den, where the last remaining scent of their mother lingered. He gave a quiet nod—already, his mind going through the check list of what he would need to do to travel. “Thank you,” he offered the woman—his own voice hollow, his thoughts elsewhere.


In the wake of traumatizing his children and pulling them from the only safety they had ever known, the only silver lining he could bring from it was that the swamp witch was less likely to try anything with Riverclan.