Fox's Glade over the rocky cliffs that you leave to peer over and not forget what feet are

Ashlar had needed some space to think, so the boy took to the lands beyond, tracking a kill to the early hours of the dawn. If you cannot fight, you will heal. The words resounded in his head as a chorus of failure. Long ago he had decided that the path of a healer was not for him, back when Baba had first shown him the ways of the medicines he practiced. Baba had not forced it, had told him to follow his own path, but here it was to be all he was good for.

And what else was he good for?

In his fretting, the boy was disheveled. His silver-touched coat had gone wild and there was a touch of misery to his gaze that had not lain within before. He was not the sort to dwell in dark places but failure laid heavier than most anything else had capacity to do.

The scent had little effect on him, but the sight of the stranger caused him to freeze. His ears tucked back, but he lifted his head to look at them with unusual directness. If only his blood would serve Ursus... then perhaps some stranger would take it, and then the bear would be satisfied.