Wheeling Gull Isle you were a comet... and i lost it...

Sweetharbor joining post?

He'd always been a terrible den maker and didn't have much experience, but the overturned log he'd found still had its leaves. Which meant he could dig under its branches and chip away at it. Gnawed branches and a shallow indent dug out, dirt filling around the edges.

So there he stood, proud of his handiwork. Almost.

It was the first time he'd been proud of himself in a long time. The... more he looked at it, the less he liked it. Stupid, stupid, it was terrible. He leaped atop it and started knocking it down, finding himself stuck as the thin branches snapped and sent his frame tumbling haphazardly into his own den, collapsing around the yearling.

Mother would've hated it; father would've growled at him to get up and keep trying. But neither of them was here, they wouldn't be here, they couldn't lick his shoulder and nudge him to keep trying. He was alone, and he stupidly left his companion's side.

 Hviske lay in defeat, a tiny whimper escaping his throat.