Sky Mesa I don’t need additional lives.

Adolescence had changed Anselm. His budding hormones altered his patience, and pressed him to pursue new challenges. 

@Wylla had given birth to a single cub. Anselm left a fat hare at her doorstep, pausing long enough to listen to Ilse’s soft voice within. Anselm would grow to love her, he knew this — but for now he wrestled with feelings of conflict, replacement, and love. 

He swore he would not let Ilse grow to never know her older brothers. 

Then there was the matter of Etienne. Even thinking the boy’s name fostered an ugly sensation in Anselm. 

He pushed south. 

Parts of the southern border had collapsed in the rain. Anselm navigated the new footholds with interest, the sweeping valleys opening out to a golden plain shadowed by an impossibly tall plateau. 

He made its summit his destination — planning to throw his voice off the highest cliff in a fit of powerful teenage angst.