Seaside Moors left the best of all husbands

he'd wandered again, though he had promised himself he wouldn't. well, he supposed it was wandering with a purpose. he was too old to scout, and yet he did it regardless, venturing beyond the bounds of his claims, past the bay and onto the moors.

after a brief bloom of members, goings-on at the plateau had subsided, and with them, his spirits.

perhaps he was too old for this, aditya thought. too old to carve a pack from nothing. he hadn't even accomplished it as a younger man; morningside had been handed to him, and parivaar torn asunder by a storm. he watched his step along the open ground, watching for gopher holes. an ankle injury would take twice or thrice as long to heal, now, as it once had.

yes. maybe he was too old. the brown and cream figure drew him, mercifully, from these dark musings. no—two of them. but his eyes were drawn to the first wolf; there was something familiar about them. he approached with a chuff, chin lifted, wondering—hoping—that they sought a home.

a home he could give. for now, anyway.