Duck Lake straight to the heart,

was it wrong for a mother to forget the face of her son?

the curl of a lip, a flash of teeth. perhaps it was maternal instinct that drove her toward the youth. she could scarcely make out the details of his features from this distance, even less so with all the mud that clung to his fur.

but even from a distance she could tell he was still young. around the age of her own children if she had to guess?

his feral, disheveled appearance suggested the boy was alone. worry gripped at her heart, "wait!" she called for after him, her footsteps quick to move in his direction.