Herbalists' Cache cen

sounds tear through the snow walls that had once been safe and warm. shouting, screaming, the wet noise of bodies breaking. the warmth is gone. the others are gone. he does not know where. he does not know why.
c’ede’ is shaking. small, fragile, a pale knot curled deep in the furs. his body trembles with every shout, every howl of rage that splits the sky. he cries.
thin, wavering mewls that hitch in his chest, that beg for someone—anyone—to come. he is too young to understand war. too young to know loyalty. but he knows fear.
and he knows he has been left behind.