cover up your shaky hands

With each passing day, Summer was feeling more and more like a version of himself that he hadn't been since before his mother had died. The drugs were slowly slipping from his system and the anxiety they'd been used to replace had yet to resurface, and thus he'd never before felt so clear-headed, capable and confident. With ability came responsibility, though, and Summer's sense of duty since getting better had increased tenfold to what it had been before.

He had a mind that day to hunt down some food for the caches. Winter was coming and he'd spent far too much of it abandoning his responsibilities as a pack wolf to slip into that blissful haze his poppies had given him. Thinking back on it made his stomach turn in disgust, and he was eager to stop himself from encountering those thoughts. He trekked along the terrain, planning out his movement for the day when he happened her.

Summer had never seen the tawny female before, and in an instant he felt guilt twisting in his gut. How long had she been one of their number? How long had he overlooked her? With a pleasant rumble from his throat, he sought to capture her attention and make amends for any potential oversight.