Moonspear know that the shine inside will always keep you strong

Nearly two weeks passed and Tiuttuk’s memories didn’t come back to her. With the help of @Alaric and Tikaani, she was able to figure out how much time she’d lost and get a general idea of where she’d been these past few months. But she could recall none of it. Her only memory of @Sobeille was from their meet-cute back in spring.

Her body carried the memories, even if her mind didn’t. Headaches continued to afflict her, plus there were aches and pains throughout her torso. Tiuttuk knew something very traumatic must’ve happened to her. It made her wonder whether she was better off leaving the memories in the black hole. It was enough of a warning not to find Sobeille and demand answers.

She wasn’t particularly compelled by that notion anyway. Alaric had mentioned pups, though without any recollection, Pie felt no attachment. It made her feel strange, knowing there were children out there who might wonder where she’d gone—surely they’d had nothing to do with whatever had happened to her—but that was no more compelling than her vague feelings toward Sobeille.

Treepie knew they should head to the caldera, though the idea unsettled her. She wouldn’t find newborns there; her siblings would be nearly grown by now. She wasn’t ready to face that, so Pie asked her sister and Alaric to accompany her back to Moonspear. She knew there was no village there—her memories cut off right after its fall—but she still found a great deal of comfort in the mountain’s familiarity.

The September sunlight warmed her face now as she sat on an overhang near the foot of the great slope. She’d spent an hour with her eyes closed, attempting to remember anything, though her efforts were halfhearted and the memories remained elusive. Pie opened them now, yellow gaze panning over the neighboring glen as she quit trying to look into the past and instead wondered what the future held.

To his shame, it was taking Katmai a little bit of time to drum up the nerve to go and see his cousin. His memories of the man were warm and sure, but steeped in the fear and pain and sorrow of their desperate journey home. Katmai wondered if he was still walking with a limp, and warred with the idea that he just didn't want to see it.

He'd stuck to the area, weaving his way through the territory on hunting trips and adventures, and now found himself not terribly far from where he and Kinusi had met. He ranged closer to the mountains this time, however, and was surprised to find another wolf sitting up on a low ridge.

He trotted up, his tail wheeling, and pitched his voice to reach her from below:

"Hello up there! Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Her eyes panned upward from the treetops, noting a distant silhouette circling in the sky over the glen. The sight comforted her. One of the last memories before everything went dark included one where she’d had a breakthrough with the nightjar. Wyvern, she reminded herself, feeling a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t remembered the nighthawk in the immediate aftermath and mourned all the progress they’d lost to the black hole.

A voice caused her yellow eyes to drop sharply to the foot of the mountain below, quickly pinpointing a figure below as he called a greeting up to her. Spine stiffening, she eyed him from her perch. His coloring reminded her of Alaric. Perhaps he was a relative? Even from up here, Treepie could tell that he was brawny of build. He had a cheeful face, which matched his voice.

Greetings, she called back to him, leaning forward toward the open space right in front of her.

Rather than comment on the weather, she plucked herself off her stone seat and descended toward the stranger. Her steps were carefully measured to avoid jostling her careworn frame too much. Tiuttuk reminded herself not to bother with any dominance displays as the distance grew narrower. This land no longer belonged to her. When the ground evened underfoot and she approached the stranger, she held herself with anodyne dignity.

What brings you to Moonspear? she queried, unable to resist adding, Are you related to Alaric, by any chance?

She did not reply to his comment on the weather, but Katmai knew that not everyone was pleased by idle chitchat. He was happy enough when she began to make her way down toward him — though he could not help but wince a little in sympathy when he sensed she was carrying herself carefully.

Despite her lack of posturing, Katmai displayed passive submission, his ears splayed and his tail wagging low.

"Alaric!" he breathed; his tail-wagging intensified. "No — but I have heard stories of him from my father, Dutch. And I have recently met his daughter, Kinusi."

He looked past Treepie, up at the mountain. So this was Moonspear? He supposed he could have guessed.

"My name is Katmai," he said, his eyes dropping back to the female. "I'm only looking around, and seeing what there is to see and meeting who there is to meet. What's your name?"

The name clearly struck a chord with him, though he confessed he’d never met the man in question. He merely knew of him, chiefly through his father and Alaric’s own daughter. Pie’s eyes brightened at the mention of Kinusi. She hadn’t thought of the younger girl in ages. She had ventured away from Moonspear as a youngster.

How is she? Tiuttuk asked, then fielded his own query by saying, I’m Treepie, though you’re welcome to call me Pie.

As they exchanged introductions, it occurred to her that she might run into someone she didn’t think she knew, only to find out they’d met sometime during these past few months. By the sound of it, though, she hadn’t been making any friends, instead cooping herself up with Sobeille and her pups. That thought still made her feel very strange, so she quickly pushed it away.

There used to be a village here, which you probably already know, but since it’s gone, I suppose you’re free to look around the mount. I can accompany you, maybe point out some important landmarks if you’re interested?

The woman brightened, and Katmai brightened in turn. Anyone who thought fondly of Kinusi was someone he cared to know. When she was asked after, however, the young male came up a little short.

"She is well," he said, cautiously, though he thought she had been a little hard done by. He did not think it was his place to speak on that, however. "She is healthy," he said, this time a little more sure. His tail gave a little whirl. "She isn't far from here, last I saw."

The offer of a tour was a welcome one.

"Pleased to meet you, Pie," he said with a pompous little bow — one he clearly did for her entertainment, by the way he watched her afterward. "I would love to be shown the sights, as long as it wouldn't disturb them."

He hoped that Moonspear wasn't cursed, as he'd been told the nearby woods were.

One brow raised slightly at his bow, though there was only good humor in her expression. His remark was probably silly, though she actually appreciated the sentiment. Treepie had to remind herself that Moonspear had been abandoned for months, not the mere days she remembered. All the same, it had once belonged to generations and she appreciated Katmai’s implied deference to that.

We won’t be disturbing anyone, she assured, then paused and asked, Should we call for Kinusi? I’d love to see her, have her join us. Treepie paused, then added, She was born here. And her dad’s around here somewhere. My bet is they’d like to see each other.

But she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t imagine there was bad blood between Alaric and his offspring, though there were question marks in her eyes as she gauged Katmai’s reaction to her suggestion.

Katmai wasn't sure about this, either, but he thought there would be no harm in telling Kinusi where he was, and who he was with. "Let's," he agreed, inviting her to howl along with him for @Kinusi. "I'll pass on the invitation the next time I see her, if she isn't near enough to hear," he assured Treepie. "The last she heard, her father was on the coast — I'm sure she'll want to know that he's inland again."

He was ready to travel, then, his eyes tracking back up the mountainside in wonder.

"Did you grow up here, too?" he asked her, wondering at Treepie's origins. "I grew up in Moontide." — he assumed any wolf from Moonspear would recognize that name.

Whether or not the reunion would be happy would remain a discovery for another day. After issuing a message to Kinusi that went unanswered for the moment, Tiuttuk took that as her cue to proceed without her. She frowned lightly, if only because she would’ve liked to see her for herself, but nodded. All of them would surely rendezvous at some point.

Yes, she answered Katmai’s question as she led him in the direction of the mountain’s scar, caused by some preternatural storm before her birth. I was born here and I’ve never— Well, she had left, she reminded herself, the thought accompanied by an unpleasant twist in her gut. I never planned to leave. But then the village faded away.

She was pretty sure Moontide had suffered a similar fate. Her eyes tracked sideways to catch on Katmai’s for a moment. Before voicing her question, her gaze then panned further up the mount, where even from a distance, one could see the great gouges in the mountainside. It looked as though a gigantic puma had swiped its claws through the rockery.

It’s gone too, right? she asked quietly, yellow eyes once more returning to his face. I’m glad Moonglow still stands, she murmured, then jolted a little when she realized it very well could’ve fallen sometime during her memory lapse.

The realization struck her like a physical blow, sending a sharp pain through her temple. Pie halted, grimacing at the ground. She bit back the urge to grunt, not really wanting to call attention to her malady. Katmai seemed nice—and he was family, in a roundabout way—but Tiuttuk didn’t really want to talk about what had happened to her, even indirectly. It made her feel much too strange.

It was strange to know someone who had been born so close to him, into a community that had been sisters with his own. That still was, in spirit, he supposed. But those connections had faded just like their respective packs, and despite the look of quiet understanding they shared, Treepie still felt like a stranger to him.

Perhaps as she ought to. That was fine — most friends were first strangers, were they not?

"I am glad, too," he agreed, his voice quiet. He took her pause to be one of grief, and he weathered it with her, thinking briefly of the happiness of home. He'd been born into the woods, but his earliest memories were of playing on the beach with his siblings and the seal hunter children, and with Raindrop's daughters as well. He wanted that back — and he was planning to make it.

"Moontide is gone — and so is Moonsong, and the Forest pack," he said, sadly. "But we are still here. I am looking for a territory to claim in the name of Morningside, like my fathers before me. Somewhere close, so that my children may go back and forth between villages, and we will always here if the moon wolves call. I think villages must be like flowers — they bloom, and they also fade. But the root of it is still there, and they bloom again a slightly different shade, or with their petals just so, or a few feet to the left — "

He offered her a wan but warm smile, hoping this would offer some comfort.

"All the same — I am glad Moonglow still stands," he reiterated, looking over his shoulder at the Spine. "Perhaps they are the root."

He agreed with her, which provided some relief from her emotional duress, if not her physical indisposition. Katmai didn’t seem to notice, for which she was grateful. Pie gritted her teeth, trying to focus on his words—he had a very soothing voice, she noted—as she slammed her eyes shut in a last-ditch effort to take the edge off the shooting pain.

She squeezed her eyelids so tightly, phosphenes began to swim in front of her. One took the rough shape of a ring. Had she ever witnessed an eclipse, Tiuttuk might’ve said it resembled one. She tried to focus on it rather than the torment, which seemed to work for a moment.

And then it was like lightning struck, imprinting itself on the backs of her eyelids. Treepie cried out and crumpled right around the time Katmai repeated his words about Moonglow, citing it as the root of all the Moon villages as he peered toward the spine. She shook her head rapidly, not to disagree with his words but in an attempt to throw off the sudden and inexplicably repugnant images—

—a feather and a shell—

—the scrape of cold, wet rock on her belly and flanks—

—sunlight—

—the smell of salt—

—screaming—

—screaming—

—so much screaming…

Her eyes opened on a gasp, Tiuttuk lurching forward as if she might empty the contents of her stomach. That didn’t happen, though she was left heaving, then panting, as the pain and its unwelcome accompaniment finally began to fade. Pie felt absolutely wretched in the aftermath and could only grimace weakly up at Katmai.

He sensed her growing unease and felt rather unfortunately as though he'd said something wrong. Perhaps she did not appreciate his talk of moving forward, or perhaps the implication that Moonglow, too, might fade was insulting. Whatever the case, he felt awful when he finally quieted —

And then very, very alarmed.

"Pie?" he asked, crouching at her side to try and take in the scent of her breath. That was always the first thing his father had done when he was feeling unwell. "What's wrong?" he asked her, but it seemed almost as if she couldn't hear.

He reeled back a fraction when she wretched, his heart beating rabbit-like in his chest. He sent up a quick, pleading howl: Someone help!

"Pie?" he said again, softly, when she lifted her head. His mind attached quite inanely to the sound of her name. Pie, Mai, Pie, Mai. They'd match, if he went by the latter half of his name instead of the first. "Let's get you to some water," he suggested, though he was not at all sure he should try to move her. He was prepared, though, if she was, to act as a support along the way.

The howl made her ears flatten to her skull, though mercifully the ache in her head continued slowly abating. Katmai sounded frantic as he said something about water, which earned a weak shake of Pie’s head. She didn’t want to move right now. The thought of water actually turned her stomach, as that image of a shell floated dimly in the back of her mind.

Breathing steadily, Tiuttuk eventually cleared her throat and said, I’m… well, clearly I’m not okay. But I’m not… I’ll be alright in a few minutes, I think. I just have these—migraines? Was that even the right term for it? I think I took a nasty knock to the head not too long ago. I say ‘I think’ because I’m not sure, she admitted with a twist of her lips.

It was all some sort of terrible cliche, wasn’t it? As the details of her brief flashbacks threatened to recede back into the murk, Pie didn’t know whether to grasp at them or let them go. Actually, she did. The feelings of horror and revulsion were so great, she decided to take it as a sign: Tiuttuk shouldn’t try to remember what had happened to her. It was better not to know.

Legs trembling slightly, Treepie pushed herself into a sit. She swore she felt Katmai’s worried look weighing on her, though she didn’t look at him just yet. Instead, she turned her head and focused on the scars dug deep into Moonstear’s slope. She pushed every other thought out of her mind, letting those awful visions grow dim and distant, and shutting a mental door behind them.

Katmai had heard of migraines, but he'd never witnessed one. He took Treepie's word as law, filing away the symptoms just in case he ever came across such a thing again.

Mention of a knock to the head did not ease his worries.

"Has Alaric found anything to help?" he asked her. Alaric was a folk hero — his father had said so. Surely she was in the best possible care? But still, in his heart he worried for her. For her head and for the traces of melancholy he could almost smell. Perhaps it was simply exhausting to have such a condition.

He sat beside her and eventually followed her gaze, interested in the odd deformations in the mountain despite wanting to dwell on what he had seen. It had reminded him, he realized, of that terrible journey back to Moontide, when Valiant had been so sick and they'd all three been hungry and weak. There'd often been a dizzy, hollow-eyed look about the man. Perhaps he, too, had suffered from migraines.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked her, something unpleasant churning in his gut. He reminded himself that Valiant had gotten better — but though he'd just met Treepie, he did not like to think of her with the same dead-eyed look on her face.

She didn’t answer him right away. She focused on inhaling, then exhaling, until the splitting sensation in her skull became nothing more than a subdued ache. The rest of her body—particularly her guts—still felt a little knotted from the experience, so next she focused on relaxing the clench, one body part at a time.

He’s done everything he can, she finally murmured, looking down at her paws as she continued wrestling with herself. We’re hopeful that the symptoms will improve over time, she continued, taking a particularly deep breath before telling Katmai, It’s only been a couple of weeks since I—well, I lost time.

Her eyes flicked sideways, finding his. She really hadn’t want to go over this with him, or with anyone. Treepie mulled a moment, pulling together the quickest summary she could and hoping Katmai wouldn’t have questions—though anticipating that he would.

A couple weeks back, I woke up one morning thinking it was early summer, that Moonspear had only just fallen and Alaric, Tiki and I were headed to the caldera. But it was actually late summer. We’d made that trip months ago and I’d apparently absconded into the wilderness to… Her nose wrinkled, her stomach knotting all over again. Everything after that day is just… gone. And I have no idea what happened to me, other than my guess about taking a knock to the head.

Her shoulders sagged as she concluded the tale, then stiffened as she waited to see what her acquaintance might say to this story, which—especially hearing it laid out loud like that—sounded absolutely outrageous.

If not even Alaric could cure her, the condition must be a powerful one indeed. The things that only time could fix were often the most difficult to weather — and it sounded as though there were layers to this one that went deeper than the sickness in her body.

Katmai listened, and felt his heart well up with a grief that was not his own. His expression was one of shock and devastation, and he quickly turned it away from her to look at the wounds in the mountain again, not wanting to upset her. It was just —

"That sounds very scary," he told her, his voice just a little husky. Scary was right, but it was not the word that he meant. What he meant was that there was almost no scent trace left of Moonspear, and to have the grief of losing her pack and her memories set alongside the obvious decay of her village sounded heartbreaking beyond measure.

He thought that Treepie must be much stronger than him. He wanted to cry for her, but kindly refrained.

"I'm sorry, Treepie," he said, quite sincerely. It did not occur to him to doubt any of her story, nor question the chances of such a thing. "It must be difficult to see your home like this — even if it had already fallen, the last your remember."

He wondered, too, about her time spent away.

"I was lost in the wilderness for many, many weeks when I was — when I was very young," he told her, though he was not sure what value this knowledge might hold for her. "When I came home, most everything was different. I remember my time away... But it was still very hard for me to understand."

It hadn't gotten much easier. Katmai had left his family, as a result.

"Perhaps it would be good for you to be among other moon wolves," he suggested, trying not to sound as worried as he was. "Faces you don't see every day. Something that can be new and different, but familiar, too. Arrluk and Ajei have a pair of daughters, now. Do you know them?"

Katmai didn't, but he assumed that all moon wolves must know each other and be related in some way, shape, or form.

It was scary, especially sensing that something even more frightening lurked behind the veil her mind had thrown over midsummer. Pie nodded but said nothing, letting him talk, calmed still by the timbre of Katmai’s voice. She did not interrupt when he shared a tale of getting lost as a young child, nor did she speak when he implied she should take refuge in Moonglow.

His mention of Arrluk’s and Ajei’s offspring made her throw back her head to discourage the tears that suddenly sprung to her eyes. She gazed skyward, willing herself not to cry, but it was a battle she quickly lost. Treepie simply didn’t have the strength to will off the onslaught of weeping that suddenly overcame her.

I don’t—I don’t know if I know them, she choked out. I wasn’t even sure Moonglow was actually still—still standing. It feels as if Moonwoman and Sunman only just d-died, for me. She sobbed hard for a moment, then gathered more breath to continue, And I know we should go to Moonglow, or Redhawk Caldera, but I n-needed the familiarity of Moonspear…

He felt awful for making Treepie cry, even if he thought she probably needed to. It couldn't be pleasant with her head already hurting, never mind the emotional turmoil. He felt stupid for suggesting Moonglow when it was the nexus of yet another tragedy, and when obviously she would not know what she ought to know.

He could only offer his presence as comfort, then. He lowered himself to his belly so that he did not loom over her, and crept close enough to touch his nose to her shoulder, silently offering his support.

"I'm sorry, Treepie," he murmured, wishing there was something he could do to help, or something he could say to reason her out of her misery. But though he felt for her, he could not touch her grief to lift it. "That is a lot to lose so swiftly."

He could not wrap his head around how disorienting it must be.

He apologized—again, she realized. Feeling utterly vulnerable and out of control, Treepie could only hiccup and shake her head. It hurt a little, though the touch of his nose to her shoulder distracted her, in part because a little zap of static electricity passed between them. Despite herself, Pie huffed a wet, sniffly laugh.

You came here to meet people and sightsee, not deal with this, Tiuttuk apologized in turn, gesturing at herself with a multicolored foreleg. I’m sorry… for trauma dumping on you. I swear I’m not usually like this. I’m all sorts of odds and ends right now, as he could probably imagine.

Shaking her head and taking some deep breaths, she managed to suppress the crying jag. Tears still trickled from her eyes, though Pie took the win. She bent her head and used that same foreleg to swipe at the corners of said eyes, then rub at her nose. Her paw came away soaked and she tried to surreptitiously wipe it on the grass.

Not that I don’t appreciate your sympathies and all… but can we talk about something else? she asked once she’d collected herself, voice still thick. Preferably something happy. Like, tell me more about—what was it?—Morningside?

The zap! was unpleasant, of course, but not nearly as unpleasant as the agonizing sympathy in his chest. He remained close by until she seemed to settle, shaking his own head even as he withdrew.

"It's important to be there for each other," he told her, as he'd been told often enough in his youth. After all — imagine if they became dear friends, and his first memory of her was of not trying to help when she was terribly sad. "Besides — " Here, Katmai lost the battle with his tingling nose and finally gave a mighty sneeze. It left him just a little dazed, and he forgot what he'd been about to say. Probably something more clever than: "You're a people, and now we've met."

He gave her a moment to neaten herself up, feeling a sense of catharsis, as though he had been the one to cry. He could still feel the urge if he let himself dwell on Treepie's sorrows, but he tried to follow the mood of the conversation she wanted.

"Of course," he told her, though he had more questions of his own. Mainly, Is it helping? The familiarity of Moonspear? He still thought she ought to be with her family. Moonglow or — what was it? Redhawk Caldera. But it was not up to him.

"There is not much to tell so far," he admitted, rolling a shoulder. "Morningside is only a name. My family's name. I have hope that if I find a piece of land and settle there, and I tell the name to all who pass by — I hope that those we have lost will hear, and come find us. But..."

He smiled sheepishly, a little wistful, a little embarrassed. He knew it was a childish dream on some level.

"More than that — I just want to have a village, like the one that I grew up in. One with many children of different ages, chasing each other from den to den. And many adults, who hunt and laugh and sing together."

He looked a little more bashful, now, and he lowered his voice as if they might be overheard.

"I hope that Kinusi will stay with me," he said to Treepie. "And perhaps — perhaps she will lead it with me." 

He could not bring himself to directly express his romantic aspirations toward the young woman.

His sneezed startled her, wet eyes flying wide, only for Tiuttuk to quickly realize there was no danger. Pie bit her lip, wondering if it was possible to feel any more sheepish than she already did. What must Katmai think of her?

Whatever it was, he indulged her request to change subjects. Her eyes softened a little at the obviously heartfelt endeavor he was undertaking. Although some of his words made the tears slip a little faster—she didn’t even bother wiping at them now—they stemmed from a profound sense of understanding. And deep, deep longing.

His earlier words repeated in her head: “I think villages must be like flowers—they bloom, and they also fade. But the root of it is still there, and they bloom again a slightly different shade, or with their petals just so, or a few feet to the left—” Some might call it cheesy, but that sentiment embedded itself deep into her heart.

That sounds wonderful, she said on a sigh, well aware that the words were about as bland as they came. I really mean it. Make it happen, Katmai.

She paused to weigh his mention of Kinusi, wondering if Alaric’s daughter would want to settle down and lead. Did Katmai have romantic designs upon her? Treepie was so curious, though she held back from questioning him about that particular detail just now.

Instead, she wondered, What territories are under consideration, if any? as her eyes idly swept over the mountainside for the nth time.

He did not take it poorly when her reaction underwhelmed. Treepie had a lot on her mind, but either way, Katmai thought her words must be sincere. After all, she had grown up in a bustling village herself, hadn't she? With at least one litter other than her own.

Her attachment to this place was deeply understandable. Katmai had contemplated attempting to claim the plateau where he'd grown up — but he worried it would hurt him too much to walk the same paths he used to walk, only without all the wolves with him that made the memories of the place so beloved. He wished he could convince Treepie to come away from this place, too — at least for a short time. Perhaps Kinusi would be able to help.

"We're still looking around," he said, turning his head to look not at the mountain, but at the peaceful valley down below. The opposite mountain range drew his gaze. "I had thought of a place. My grandmother was a girl there — it's called Blacktail Deer Plateau. But I've never been. She said that it overlooked some hot springs, and that you could see the spine from the cliffside. And Kinusi liked the idea of cliffs, I think."

So that they could look down on and playfully taunt wolves down below — but he did not share this childish fantasy with Treepie.

"I will know the place when I find it," he assured her, his tail wagging. "Or she will. Maybe. I hope."

Unaware that their mental paths were at total odds, Treepie returned her yellow eyes to Katmai’s face as he told her about a plateau from his grandmother’s childhood. He had never seen it for himself. Maybe that was what he wanted: someplace fresh and unfamiliar, but with those roots he’d mentioned.

His closing words almost made her rethink the words at the tip of her own tongue. They did give her pause, though only for a moment. They’d barely seen anything of Moonspear before her episode had halted them. Katmai hadn’t had a chance to look around properly.

You should consider Moonspear, Pie said in a soft voice. Especially since Kinusi was born here, which kind of made it her birthright.

And it was Tiuttuk’s too, of course, but she’d had her run. She couldn’t explain why she had no qualms with the idea of Katmai and Kinusi assuming ownership—maybe she was just too exhausted and mixed-up to spare any bandwidth for it—but it didn’t bother her. She was in no shape to lead herself anyway, though Pie thought she would do almost anything to see the village bloom again, even in a slightly different shade.

Just think about it… while we finally get this tour underway, she concluded as she gingerly rose to her feet.

Katmai kept his expression neutral, though at first blush, he had to admit that he didn't like the idea. It was a place that held too many recent memories, just like the plateau on the ocean. Just like Deepwood Weald, just like Moonsong Glacier. Less so than Neverwinter Forest, but... well, Katmai had always been afraid of ghosts. And though he liked the idea of providing Treepie with more family and friendly faces to be around, he still thought this would be better accomplished elsewhere.

He stood as well, and though his expression was still a bit dubious, he agreed: "I will think about it — as long as you will think about settling with us elsewhere, too. We must see what will make all our spirits sing."

Katmai would be the first to admit that he did not know the right path, nor the path that would be taken. He would do as she asked of him, but he hoped she would, in turn, do as he'd asked of her.

"Now, show me the sights," he encouraged. "Perhaps you will convince me."

He agreed to consider it, though he had a condition. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Treepie went still, her brow knitting in thought. She had come back to Moonspear desperate for the comforts of familiarity… but as she’d said, she knew she, Alaric and Tiki should go to Moonglow or Redhawk Caldera eventually. Now there seemed to be another option on the table.

That seems like a fair trade, she said with a decisive dip of her snout. I mean, you know I’m definitely in if you choose Moonspear, Pie added with the ghost of a cheeky smile.

See those? she asked as they continued moving toward the marks on the mountainside. Anaang told me about a strange storm that left them. That same storm killed several members of our family, including her taataa. That’s what led to Moonglow’s founding.

After they took a few moments to ponder that landmark, Tiuttuk decided to show him to the healing ulaq. It had been in bad shape the day they’d left, which felt like only yesterday to her. But time made itself known in the log’s collapse. She actually stopped and stared at it in silence for a long beat, not really sure how to feel.

Onward, she said a moment later, and upward.

Treepie motioned Katmai to ascend once more. She would take him somewhere with an unforgettable view, she decided. Then she would make a point to show him all the ulax, even if their emptiness would have the same effect as the ruins of the healing ulaq. She would show him that this place still had all the makings of a prosperous village. It only needed wolves.

Fade here? :)