Blackfoot Forest faith ain't no privilege

Nimbus’s gaze lingered a moment too long on the wintergrey wolf, his pale eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper—something distant and raw that he couldn’t quite name. Her coat, brushed by the silvery moonlight, tugged at a thread he thought he’d buried long ago. It was just a glimmer, a whisper of memory, but it caught him off guard all the same.  

When Wake’s question came, it pulled him back to the present, though his answer seemed to carry the weight of elsewhere. No, he said quietly, almost absently. Not from the area. Not really from anywhere anymore. His voice held a softness that hadn’t been there before, as though the cold night air had stolen some of its usual sharpness.  

His gaze drifted back to the female, studying her without meaning to. She wasn’t the same—of course she wasn’t—but something about her bearing, her eyes, made the ache in his chest twist tighter. He let out a quiet breath, his focus shifting back to Wake, though his thoughts still wandered.  

Just passing through, he murmured, his words more for himself than anyone else. Looking for... something. Or nothing. A faint, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.