Jade Fern Grove along the path we lost our way

There was an absence in Easthollow which worried the boy: he hadn’t seen @Keen in over a week, and her scent had begun to grow stale.

If this had been Arlette, he might have chalked her absence up to exploring. He often found the trail of his paler sister leading out of the territory - but Keen was not like Arlette; she was not like other wolves. Even the frailest breeze seemed to rattle her, so much that he often wondered if she would ever find the footing to leave Easthollow at all. He hoped he was wrong, but to strike out without word or warning now was not like her, and  he couldn’t help but worry that something must be wrong.

After all, his father, too, had disappeared, and maybe that is what spurred him so quickly now. Merrit would let the same happen to Keen.

He tracked the faint trace of her lingering trail to the shadows of the grove on the other side of the meadow, where thick branches bled into the darkness of the night. “Keen!” his voice stole through the silence, clinging to the air in a wisp of foggy breath. She had been here, he was sure, but was she here anymore? “Keen!” he tried to discern shadow from shadow, “It’s your brother, Merrit! Where are you?”