Swiftcurrent Creek ghost under rocks

The holler of a youthful voice echoed across the lands, drawing the man’s muzzle up sharply and causing him to adjust his trajectory along the borders. His pace was quick—his mind sharp with the name that was called, and soon his pale gaze fell upon Arlette and one of Riverclan’s girls.

He attempted to hide the bewilderment of his features—the girl was clearly distraught, and he was quick to turn to Arlette, studying her before intercepting the girl with a crooning bark—hoping to draw her attention. “Silvertongue isn’t here, leanabh rionnag.” he murmured to her, eyes softening, tail giving a gentle flick in the air. “Did she not tell your pack where she was going?”

Her angered words—the scour of her teeth still marked upon his brow and cheek as the wound made to heal. But it was the hurt in his heart that clung to the true scar tissue.