Lost Creek Hollow Butterflyfish

Yes.

Just one word and it felt so heavy that the dark figure quaked, shook, withered.

Yes, Germanicus.

Crowfeather had never felt so young and so old in all his life. He felt like a child gazing up at his hero, at the thing that spurred his heart to continue beating day after day. Their time apart had aged him. Germanicus, too. He was older and more weathered. He looked so tired. Were it not for the poignant scent of blood on the air, the shadow could not believe that this was real. He was dreaming, of course. He was dreaming of this man the same way he had for nights and nights and nights.

How had he come this far with those wounds?

In the moment his paw stepped forward, toward the man with yellowpaint eyes, he knew how Germanicus felt. And it was hell to know it. Honey eyes were unblinking. As though one millisecond of having them closed would mean that he would vanish again and Crowfeather would be left standing upon the edge of his quiet little home.

Part of a moon was falling in the west, dragging the whole sky with it to the hills. Crickets hummed, as though unaware of the heartache that filled the air around them.

Another step drew him within a breath of the older man.

Why? he croaked. Why are you here?

And though he hated himself for it, the next words from his mouth came without an ability to stop them.

Is Ruenna okay?

If you look like this, what has happened to your family?