Ouroboros Spine sun of the houses

Fjall perked up at the mention of his mother; his tail wagged quickly and a quiet whine squeezed through the tightness of his throat. He missed her so much! The boy wanted to proclaim this wolf as his family -- rejoice at having found someone who knew him, knew Lótë -- but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He was so overwhelmed with emotion and uncertainty; feelings he had wanted to avoid.

He watched as she descended, and he tried his best to stand tall, be brave, be strong. But his legs quaked under the weight of her approach, and his lips quivered wordlessly as the gravity of this situation dawned on him more and more. It was a lot for him to bear. He had never dreamed of returning here without his mother, and hers was the only company he truly knew.

He wanted desperately to know this wolf, to remember her as she remembered him. He swallowed hard as she stood before him and spoke to him softly. I wish it had not been so, he said, his voice a mouse’s whisper, his eyes falling to her feet like the drooping wisteria petals they shared color with. Wh- What do I call you?