You can't make me!

He had returned to his old territory after it had been abandoned, mostly to recover his armor and helmet. Thys was long gone and Hannibal had disappeared after losing against the lightning king. The pack scent had faded from the forest, and now Ty moved through the lands as he would in any unclaimed territory; with cautious steps, and exuding pride.

He cleared away the discarded leaves that had fallen in his den during his absence, then paused. There was something on the wind. A scent of downy fur and the iodine scent of poor health. He followed the scent with his hackles rising, remembering the sickly bear he and his brother had fought that had been too emaciated to go into hibernation, the bear he now wore on his back, with its lacquered claws dangling from his throat. His first thought was a bear cub, left to be exposed for being too weak to survive until it could fend for itself in the fall, but a small iron ball of foreboding sat in his stomach that told him what he would find would be much more insidious.

As he crept closer to the very edge of the territory he began to notice signs of chewed branches and disturbed underbrush, the telltale signs of a fight for survival. With a small skyward gesture off his head the raven that had been circling him for hours took wing, searching for small birds or vermin he could easily fell.

He remembered the child from his final encounter with Thys, but other recalled that he hadn’t so much as acknowledged her when she made her snapping and growling entrance. He sat then let the rest of his body fall onto his belly, making direct eye contact with the girl and her brooding expression.

“Where is your mother child?” He asked calmly, the white hairs of his armor waving like a plane of silver grass in the wind.

Speech, Thought, You