The Heartwood starts soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

A sob wracked Dragomir when she recognized him, said his name, and crashed into him with such a slight weight that he worried she would blow away in the wind. He was mindful of the powerful swing of his tail as it picked up in a joyous wag, and did his best to keep from buffeting her with it. A whine crawled up his throat as he threw his neck around hers and clung tightly to her. It was as much out of fear that she would go again as it was out of love.

I thought I'd never find you, he rasped, pressing the side of his muzzle to his sister's cheek and pressing soft touches of his tongue against her dirty fur. He didn't want to think about the matted and threadbare quality of her coat and he didn't want to think about the jut of her ribs and pelvis through her skin. He didn't want to think about how he hadn't been there for her like she always had for him. The pain of that was too much for Dragomir.

You tried to find her, one side of him reasoned, while the other admonished him for allowing Isilmë to get to this state. What happened? he asked hoarsely, pulling back just far enough to search her sunken face with a pang of guilt and sorrow.