Signs

Spring.

It felt as though years had passed, but in truth it had been only months. A simple turning of one season and he returned to his birth land, reborn. The faint scent that he had caught in the Brief and frantic moments when he landed on the cold shore had ruminated within him. A scent he had always known yet could never place, a desire he had long held but could never be fulfilled. A man he had grown to hate and yet who had sparked his wildest puphood imaginings.

Father.

The word brought the feeble minded Bass to his thoughts, and he bit bitterly against them. No. He was no father to him. He was no leader of Abaven. He was not even fit to lead a herd of sheep. He knew as he stood on the precipice of the pack's territory that his own greatness had been inherited, that his sire had truly been a man of greatness like he had always known. He threw his head back and howled until his lungs burned, his golden eyes fixed on the mountain before him as he waited to be received.