The Smile From Tomorrow

It was some time now, at least by pup standards, since the event that had shattered Cross's world. No, not the fact that his uncle - who was like a second father to him - had lost in a challenge and been dethroned. No, it wasn't the migration that they had undergone to Tortuga. It was the fact that then they'd had to leave the mountain. All of those things paled in comparison to what he had seen back on his last days in Glaciem. The sight of the rogue known as Sixx, pouncing out of the underbrush and mauling Ithurial to the point of death. And then, a moment later, seeing that same attacking wolf beg and scream and whine for his life under Awaken's paws as the pack male had shoved him back and impaled him on a broken tree branch.

Cross had barely spoken a word since that day. As time moved on, he might answer a direction question from his brothers or his parents, but that was all, and even that was done with as few words as possible. He just didn't feel like talking anymore. His eyes had been opened to a side of the world that he thought existed only in the tales that they mother told them. It didn't matter whether or not he liked it; whether or not he was scared. It was just the way things were now. He could either crack and crumble or he could shove the pain down his throat and keep moving on. That was what all the adults did. His mother, his father, his uncles - ever since he'd stopped talking, he'd really started listening, and he'd started to understand more of what was going on around him. The heroes in his life? They'd been beaten up and broken down more times than he could guess at. And they still carried on. It was in his genetics. He would too.

And honestly, this new gig about being rogues? It fit him just fine. He got to roam around a little, espically now that he and his siblings were nearing nine months. They could hunt on their own too - Cross had been getting pretty dang good at it... though everytime he saw blood he couldn't help but flash back to seeing it pulse out of the pupsitter and the white rogue. Cross was getting good at suppressing shudders. And at shutting down the parts of himself that felt anything at the sight of gore and death. Slowly, but surely, he was making himself strong - or at least what he thought was strong.

On this day he let his black paws carry him away through the northern lands, enjoying the cold that nipped at his thick fur coat. Absentmindedly he'd followed along a familiar scent trail. Crucible had been by and Cross figured on catching up to brother eventually. Maybe they could go for a hunt or something before it was time to head back to the group. He picked up the pace when he heard the call pierce the air. First a trot, then a stiff legged lope as he plowed along past conifers and rock formations. They were near the caves, weren't they? Creed had explored these once before and Gargoyle had taken shelter in them during his initial recovery. "Caves of the Past" he believed they were called. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Cross soon caught sight of his brother and returned the call with a wordless bark of his own. As Crucible seemed in no danger of any sort, he slowed his pace back to a trot, and then a walk as he came within a few yards. He held up his head, swiveled his ears forward and trained in emerald eyes upon his brother's golden ones, clearly asking what he'd been called for, and what was on the other youth's mind.