Moonspear Til the Darkest thought makes me want to try these wings

Pie had grown so much so quickly these past few weeks, they sort of felt like a newborn colt discovering their legs for the first time. They became suddenly clumsy, often tripping over their own feet and taking tumbles. Their chin and elbows were littered in scabs. Yet Treepie always picked themself up, brushed themself off and carried on with an unstoppable smile.

They hadn’t fallen yet today, though it was still early. The youngster trotted along a familiar footpath, keen on fetching a drink from their favorite spring, where Pie swore the water was sweetest. They checked their speed but still managed to stumble a little on some uneven ground. They over-corrected and went careening into some nearby brush, which cushioned their fall.

Giggling, Tiuttuk climbed from the shrubbery and resumed walking along the path, though they hadn’t yet reached their destination when Alaric’s call rose on the mountainside. The young wolf froze in their tracks—very nearly tipping forward into a face plant—and listened to the notes for a few beats.

Pie then tipped their dark muzzle skyward, their youthful tenor weaving into Alaric’s baritones.