Hoshor Plains the remembering

thank you, mi amor!

Mind hopelessly spinning, Fjall padded away from the glacier and the wind-mountain above it to venture further south. He sought clarity on this walk, thinking of Moonwoman and his siblings and their children and Bronte and the coalshadow on the glacier and Ariadne and his mother and and and—

He tried to clear his thoughts.

It was warmer this day than it had been, but at least his pale complexion made sure that he did not suffer. The rushing echoes of the gorge were dying down behind him, and the rocky ground began turning to brittle grass underfoot. Ahead of him was a figure wreathed in sunlight, everything but its wolfish outline obscured in such a way that he could not tell who it was at first.

A churning of clouds dimmed the halo, revealing the goldmaned Arktos in the distance. Fjall’s heart leapt up into his throat, and he struggled to call out. I-Is that you, Arktos? But of course he knew who it was. He’d only thought of him about a thousand times since meeting him.

Fjall had not quite reached the border yet, but he was soon to discover why the intimidating man ranged these plains.