Silver Creek cerulean

Thalassa lived.

But not here.

The echo returned empty from the watchmen of the night, and Orestes peered star ward. Did her eyes even trace the same pathways anymore?

Perhaps they were still running; though surely, they couldn't cover equal distance. They had too many variables - that simply came with having more wolves. But how much farther yet?

Boreas shifted, restless, as the eastern wind stirred from behind.

Orestes had never believed in things beyond what he could see. But somehow, the old prophet had known.

A roll of his shoulders, and Boreas took flight. He could have been the moon, for the pallid light of his wings. Up and up, regaining his post in the sky.

Somehow she had known, and it felt foolish to believe, but this much he held with the tethering faith of his earth borne paws:

Thalassa lived, and until he found her, he would never stop looking.