Swiftcurrent Creek If they're here to smoke, know I'll go with you

Mae had been a constant presence by his side since the fight with the stranger—the moment they had returned back to the creek, Akavir had set to motion on caring for her—mostly outlined by Reverie in terms of medical ail, and yet in other ways. Guiding her had become the most prominent—but at times during her naps, or when they tended to trail slowly—he would leave markings behind for her to find—forging paths as best he could.

Removing larger rocks from them.

So it was strange to him when the black youth began to drift more and more from him. He would follow—but only so far when it became obvious she was in need of space.

She navigated an entirely new world and outlook—it was only natural she would need to find her footing somehow.

So when a heap of something was plopped unceremoniously before him, he was startled—the scent of blood thick—and then noting the mangled appearance of what was once a weasel. A crooked grin pressed against his muzzle—eyes beaming as he looked back up to her triumphant form. “Look at you, killer,” he teased, his tone laced with pride. “Thanks for feeding your old man.”