Larksong Grotto Warflower

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darukaal had not made more visits to either the mountain nor the grotto, and skorpa hoped preparations for their war kept such far away. for himself, ayovi seemed to grow in brilliant curve each day, and he sensed it would not be long.

thus driven, he hunted with increasing oftenness, digging a new cache down the path so neither of them would need to go far once the children came. never a demand, but always a desire, that ayovi should lie in their furs and allow him to tend her paw and foot when that moment arrived.

skorpa, thus too! filling with trepidation, amassing a fear he did not wish to bear but did not wish to shake; new instinct wakening.

blood and dirt. milky newborn smell. water-logged pack-scent tendriled beneath, faint now.

more than that, a stranger and the sorceress, standing in the fringes of the grotto as holy watchers. he did not like it, and turned his eyes on the second man, torn by wolf's-teeth and inexplicably in the companionship of a tiny child.

"saatsine or darukaal did?" he grunted, letting no curiosity nor judgement enter his tone as he approached, bearskin-shrouded shoulders rolling with a gait that promised hurt if lies were sewn his way. this was not winsook, but it was close enough for skorpa to be cautious.

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