Season of the Witch

Each day seemed to pass slower and slower until he could feel the hours crawling away as his stomach turned with anguish over the fate of his children. He wanted some assurance that they would be safe and had half a mind to simply leave Erövrare and camp out at Abaven’s borders, if not within the pack itself.

He lay in his den, facing away from the mouth with a thick fur covering the entrance. He brooded in black silence, willing himself to make the hours pass by faster but to no avail. Sulking in his den was just as fruitless as abandoning his pack to see his children, but he couldn’t find the will to face any of them. Half of them had after all plotted to betray him. He knew he should do something about that, but as long as Shaye held his children he feared any violent act would be grounds to have them kept.

With a final huff he crawled from his den, surprised to find darkness and moonlight as he entered the world once again. He supposed now was as good a time for a patrol as any, but moving at all seemed to drain him, he was too weary from grief and his still fresh wounds, but nevertheless he pushed himself into action.

He walked along the border through the less inhabited portion of the woods, his ears turning to the sounds of night creatures, and the occasional movement they made. It was not a good time for him to be alone, particularly not at night, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand company if anyone offered it to him.

Speech, Thought, You