Emberwood right here is where my friends they used to live

Val listened closely to his senior's words, but was a bit rattled when Lucius remarked that lynxes could prove a difficult fight for pups. Had he been supposed to fight the cat? Was it because of his own inability that Larus was taken? The memory reeled in his eye like an old film stuck on repeat. The grotesquely short muzzle filled with dagger for fangs, its large and leering yellow eyes with slits for pupils, and the curved talons it used to rake his father's haunch. Fear had incapacitated the Sveijarn brood when the attack happened -- not one pup could guard their brother from the persistent feline. Even the bold Jokull had pressed herself to the earth in shock. Valtýr pursed his lips pensively, unaware that Lucius had phrased his words to lighten an utterly hopeless plight. Truly, the children were lucky that thy all hadn't been slaughtered.

Yet, the words put a heavy responsibility on Val's shoulder; a burden was not present before. He was the oldest and father often jested about the duties that came with the title. Yet, before Val could go too far down the rabbit hole, Lucius talked about his mother.

He freely complemented her, and it brought a swell of pride to the boy's dark spirit. Maybe those of the highest standards were born with such marks? Or maybe they were gifted them later in life? His father had some too... across the temple and shoulder. That meant they were special wolves. Val's bronze eyes glimpsed as his own shoulder and paws... no marks yet... but had hadn't done anything noteworthy in life, had he? Again the truth eluded him. The reality was far more gruesome. A cougar invasion in Tartok and Swiftcurrent, the later which almost claimed his sire's life.

The child smiled at Lucius, but a gust of wind sent him crumpling to the ground. His paws were sore, toes numb. "I'm cold," he said, teeth chattering. How much farther was home?