Emberwood silent crow

It was good that they moved, for Anselm felt black roots settling about him. Had they stayed he might have anchored to the place, limbs turned to unrespondng stone, eyes flat and fur gradually grown over with the hungry crusade of lichen.

It was only his sons who bid Anselm to shake off the settling of existential decay. He sensed in them a change, too -- and he mourned for them their lost innocence, their childhood now warped by a stain that could never lift.

He traveled close to them both, sharing a small glance with Ezra as the procession is called to a halt. Standing between the two of them, Anselm was struck by how tall they had both gotten -- not long now would they come into their own season, and call upon the wilds as practiced caribou hunters.