Losing, or losing you

It was almost a week after the wedding and tourney fight. He'd admitted to Mortis what he had done. His Uncle was one of the wolves in his life who was reasonable and kind, as much as he struggled to talk about it. Now he was returning to the Hallows. The little wooden owl Mortis had helped his carve was in a literally bag over his shoulders. He was tempted to call and leave it for her to find, but he knew Mortis would ask him how it went. He wouldn't be admitting to cowardice, so he stopped st thr Hallows borders and took a deep breath.

He could do this. Time had distanced the hurt and worry that had been installed in him, and he didn't want to lose the wise old woman's friendship. And, he hadn't known until Mort had told him - she was family. So after a moment he took his courage and howled out to her, and waited at thr border to see if she would respond.