Too much history

The Warlord Walked slowly to the central point of his pack. He still felt stiff and sore from the sickness that had taken over his body. He was healing, slowly, and feeling his age this day. He knew he had done little in the pack lately. He had so much he needed to catch up on, Supervise… he needed to spend time with his new grandkids. He needed to get the pack fit and healthy once more, but the how evaded him.

He reached the obelisk, the central point of the pack. He rested a paw against the cool stone. His eyes glancing towards a name graved on the other side of the rules. A memorial. He brushed a paw across it, brushing dust from the notch. Resin it read. He sighed softly, and wondered if he would ever know if he should be adding his sister's name to the list. Where was Io, would she ever return?

He shook his head, knowing his thoughts did him no good, and made his way to the firepit. He tossed wood into the center, and began the tedious job of whittling up a flame. It wasn’t often the fire went out, but with the sickness in the pack...


"Sirius Fatalis"