Blacktail Deer Plateau Not your son, Not your friend

Without a mother, father, or any blood relatives on the Plateau, Valtýr was little more than a waif amidst a crowd. The child could not recognize his own odd behavior, his penchant for lingering where others did not. It was smart of Dante to draw the youth in, to provide a much needed compass to the forlorn wanderer. "A guardian? For me?" A few feathers dropped from the boy's mouth as his brows cinched together pensively. "I suppose... so," the youth told Date as he recalled Pura's words, now numb to the idea that his brother was truly gone forever. There was guilt in his expression. Had the wrong child died?

His eating slowed, flat golden eyes skittering around the great alpha's paws. "Who?"