Swiftcurrent Creek i won't tell you how i survived the wreckage.

A howl at the borders summoned him, but it was Moss who held his rapt attention at first. His eyes studied her as he came to her side, testing the air quietly, scenting for unseen injuries or sickness—he could see by looking at her the weariness that clung to her, but only from his familiarity with her.

The woman was still a statue in nature—injured and tired or not. “Rest,” he suggested to her, his eyes speaking volumes should she know to look for it—he would catch up with her momentarily. They had much to discuss.

And then, his eyes sought the visitor, studying her with the mask of a stoic—unwilling to offer much to a stranger when the past few weeks the creek had been emotionally split bare by those they had once trusted. “What do you seek?”