Hushed Willows in the hollow heartland

The days grew shorter and colder, yet none of this had any apparent effect on Tambourine's spirits. He continued a relatively blithe existence in the Keep, aware of the less savory aspects of life but apparently impervious to their mental and emotional impact. He was happy, more or less, and tried to do his best to spread gladness among his pack mates when he saw them. Strangely, he saw a lot less of them than he would have liked, especially considering their communal den space, but luckily the young wolf was pretty good at keeping himself entertained.

But today he was legitimately bored and in dire need of some company. He swung by Amara's den but found the space strangely empty. Although baffled by this, he supposed she must have taken her children on a stroll or something. Tambourine shrugged and went on his way, traipsing about the willow woods for a while before finding himself crossing paths with the pack's eldest pup. Only Silas wasn't a pup anymore, was he?

"Hi, Silas," the Xi greeted, his voice upbeat but his demeanor not nearly as loud or obtrusive as once upon a time. Although age hadn't worn on his optimism, it had tempered his social skills a bit. He noticed that his young pack mate looked a little down and queried, "Are you all right?" His tail waved as he regarded his fellow youth, pale eyes brimming with genuine curiosity and concern.

Then he abruptly remembered about Larkspur. He felt guilty because her condition had entirely slipped his mind lately, though now Silas's careworn expression made sense. Furthermore, Tambourine was now self-aware enough to recognize the idiocy of his own question. His ears fell, abashed, and he muttered, "Sorry. I forgot." Um. "Can I—how can I help?"