Duskfire Glacier What will the future hold?

For a moment, Malachi had let himself fall into the art of forgetting. Forgetting that he was one of the few founders left, forgetting that Tuwawi was not herself, forgetting that this pack belonged to more than the Sveijarns now. Týrr's unexpected return had energized him, but as the novelty of their encounter waned, forgetting became impossible and remembering took hold, and when Malachi picked up the strong scent of his packmates, those who had joined when Tuwawi had not been Queen, his fantasy began to falter. Tuwawi wasn't herself, and until she was, he would remain king - though in reality he felt more like a peasant in masquerade garb.

Scarlett's scent played fresh on the air, and he hesitated before turning his steps to follow. Some time had passed since Adlartok's attack, but he had not visited the healing boy. Many times he had wanted to seek him out, but he had no answers to give the child, and he'd made no move to evict Tuwawi from the pack she'd been the first to claim. A part of him clung to the hope they could heal the woman, yet he couldn't help but wonder if he was a fool playing with matches already lit. Adlartok was his responsibility, and his loyalty lay with the child as much as it lay with Tuwawi.

And so his loyalties split.

He saw Scarlett's snowy fur between the trees and he approached, shaking the uncertainty that pricked him through. She had risen from her lowly position to a place below his own, and whatever discomfort ran between them, her dedication to Duskfire did not go unnoticed by the sundry boy. She had earned her place among them - and yet he hadn't spoken to her since Tuwawi's attack. Letting out a low chuff, he made his presence known, knowing this routine could not go on forever.