Phantom

Leaving Flightless Falcons, his parents, March Owl and Aether, and his littermate and closest sibling, Custard, had been measurably hard. To claim that Sveinx did not miss them would be to make wild accusations, would be to tell a woeful lie. He missed them dearly, but everyone had to leave the nest at some point. His older siblings had done it, carrying the DiSarinno name to lands far away. Sveinx, having always been closer to March Owl than he was Aether, decided to take her ?maiden? name and cut off the DiSarinno. It had been his choice to make, though some of his siblings bore the Redleaf-DiSarinno. It was a choice, since March Owl had not been willing to entirely get rid of her maiden name, since, as far as Sveinx knew from her stories it was her tie to her adopted father, Sven. Of whom he was partially named after. Eyes of poison apple green scanned the unfamiliar and alien land before him, determined not to let his ill at ease homesickness get the better of him. He was an adult now. He had ceased needing Aether and March Owl long ago and though his offer had been extended to Custard his littermate hadn't wanted to leave. Sveinx hadn't been too crazy about the idea of going at this self-searching voyage all on his own ? despite that he had a very strong sense of who he was. It was an...adventure, of sorts. Maybe a new start, if he decided he liked it enough to stay. To call these foreign lands his home. Only time would tell if such would come to pass.

Sveinx had heard, from the mouth of another, passing and wayward loner that this land, the Wood he now, however temporarily inhabited, was called Weeping Woods. It was no wonder why. It was full of weeping willow trees, their vines full of green leaves, that caught and snagged in his pristine white fur as he shrugged through them, at time s unable to walk around the vine-like branches that hung like tresses, caressing the ground in the soft breezes that would rise now and then. The morning sun, what golden rays that could reach him through the canopy of greenery above was warm as they drifted like a lover's fingers along the strong curve of his spine, eliciting shivers that caused the coarse guard hairs to bristle in the teasing warmth, cooled by the shade the woods provided from the summer onslaught of heat. The only thing, which aided his homesickness that Sveinx felt pool like ice deep in his stomach was the loneliness. It had been a while since he'd held any sort of decent conversation with another wolf and as a social creature ? despite his unconventional ways of being sociable. Mostly he was seen as stand-offish because he was, a product of his mother (to most wolves' digress), bluntly honest, crude. Though it was not, often, meant to be personal Sveinx found over his childhood that most wolves would take it as a direct assault.

Still, he felt a lingering longing for companionship, even if it was for a few hours. With the softest, barely audible sighs he pushed forward, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that he might run into someone today.