Swiftcurrent Creek i'm gnashing my teeth like a child of cain

A low whine emits from her—his ears slide back tightly to his skull and two large strides brings him to her, his muzzle dipping down, his nose trailing her cheek as he nuzzles her, breathing her in. She would be okay—she had to be okay.

“Eshe gave me a… run down,” he hesitates—Eshe, wracked with sobs, had tried to tell him what had happened. “I had to see for myself… I found Moss in the swamp.”

Gone. Moss was gone.

“Do you need anything for the pain?” He settles outside the den—disliking his back to the world, but not willing to crowd Wren too much. He begins to groom the crown of her head, should she let him. Trying to clean away some of the blood.

“What happened?”


Who am I hunting down for this?