Emberwood oh father, tell me, do we get what we deserve?

Alasdair paused as the footfall of another approached—his entire form stiffening, though he did not lift his head yet. Partially—though the youth was no longer this naive—he hoped if he chose to ignore whoever it was, they would simply drift away.

But the ghouls of the world did not work that way—and so the masked face of the boy lifted, green eyes shrewdly placed upon the woman before the lingering form and the crooning bark of another also caught his attention.

His tongue slid across his lips—form still stiff—idly considering his chances of escape in this moment. Would they drag him back to the ridge wolves who had taken him?

Was he even important enough to be looked for by the ridge wolves?

Shark. Swiftcurrent Creek.

Someone was looking for their lost boy.

His heart stuttered in his chest. Someone’s family wanted their boy back. Had his even tried?

“No,” was all he offered—and cautiously, he lowered his mouth once more to the water, drinking slowly—green eyes never wavering from keeping both within view.