Honeyed Pasture Meet me at the sunrise

A stray red leaf drifted down, grazing the wolf’s ear as he ambled slowly. A twitch was given, his golden eyes narrowing up at the offending tree before ushering a gentle snort. Autumn was usually a time he enjoyed, but for now, he simply found himself in some form of permanent funk.

His thoughts were darkened by the dread of abandonment—the same issues he held since the moment he had fled the Marauders. What had happened to them? His family? Usually, he refused to dwell on it, for the guilt would eat away at him… always wondering if the death of the boy by his teeth and wrought the death of his mother in returned vengeance.

A scowl clouded his narrow features. His muzzle swinging away to stare glumly before him, when he noted the grey she-wolf startling awake before him. He stiffened, unaware of her presence only until now, and then he stared as recognition swept through him—“Wraen?”