Firefly Ravine the north remembers

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‘SUP, BROSKI

Since settling into the coastal pack, the yearling hadn’t traveled beyond its boundaries. More often than not he’d kept to himself, but always had he found a place to hide away in without leaving the territory. In the early evening, however, he’d found himself heading towards the outskirts of Drageda’s claim, and then beyond even that. He knew not where he was going, nor could he find it within himself to care, but continued onward anyways. Every so often, the boy had stopped and marked the path on which he trekked, leaving behind for himself reminders so that he might not get lost whenever it came time to return. Perhaps he had done it for Kendra, too, so that she might not worry if it was discovered that he’d gone missing.

After wandering for several hours straight, Alexander found himself traveling downwards, where he then was met by a river. Without a care, the water raced onward, following the same path that it had traveled for years already, and would continue to travel for many more. Trailing along the water’s edge, he looked around quite often until, eventually, his body came to a complete stop. A section of the river where the current was far less vigorous had been found, and so across he’d gone, causing quite a ruckus as he splashed his way over to dry land; there he pulled himself out and shook his coat free of the loose droplets. A break was desired, a mere moment for him to recollect himself, but such was a luxury that fate could not grant him. For in with the winds there came a scent, clearly belonging to another wolf, whose homeland’s odour clung to him like a wet shirt—Blackfeather.

Hardly a second had managed to slip by before the albino was back up on his feet and sprinting across the earth, expression hardened and muscles tensed. The wolf that had been detected was definitely not Cicero, nor any of the faces that he’d actually be happy to see. Curious, he kept up his pace until a dark mass was spotted in the distance, as which point he slowed to an eventual stop, remaining several meters away from the stranger. He was younger, the shadow-cloaked figure, with eyes that reminded the young Apaata of his father. To not jump to conclusions became difficult, though he somehow refrained from blurting out something about the other male’s appearance. Instead, he asked, “Who are you?” He wanted to ask who sent you, too, but decided against it for the time being.

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