Sleepy Fox Hollow helianthus annuus

Grief had choked the young man as he turned away and watched his mother walk to her death. The last six months had been horrible to watch, but he had been there for her in whatever way he could. He fed her, he helped her up when she needed a shoulder to lean on, and he had listened when she had a rare moment of clarity.

"I want to die where I was born," she'd said, and Waxwing had agreed without question. Now, he found himself on the edge of a pack he had once briefly aligned himself with. His parting with them had been sudden, but he had let Mahler know that Tytonidae was not well, and he was needed. Now, no trace of the man was present on the borders. But there were two scent markings that he did recognize: @Anselm and @Etienne. The three of them had been around the same age.

Early morning fog settled around him, though the sun would soon take care of that. The masked boy called for the two names he knew, hoping to learn more of what had happened in his absence. He settled onto his haunches and waited.