Lake Rodney crow feathers

some time had passed since he and @Tvar last traveled to bearclaw valley. typically, they would return often. it was the closest thing to home falk knew, and he had begun to long for it.

but everytime, father always had that glazed over look in his eyes, quiet and shallow and hurting. very obviously hurting, and falk always failed to figure out how to alleviate it.

he didn’t understand that grief, and truthfully? he hoped he never would.

the yearling picks his way around the furthest edge of the lake with long legs, ranging in long and smooth strides. those large paws of his crunching frost beneath his growing weight as he goes, and his head on a swivel.

scenting at the crisp winter air, there is something oddly familiar drifting from downwind. two scents that tickle his brain in the most confusing of ways, but in the end, it’s nothing that dredges up memories for the boy, and so he ignores it.

his belly grumbles. maybe he would fetch something to eat.