Old scars on an old wolf

It was growing late, and the air was cool against his fur as he staggered back to the Armada’s borders. A feeling of fatigue settling in his bones, and an ache revibrated up his entire foreleg. He stopped at the scent markers and looked down at his leg. He could have picked the loose stones out of the open cut, perhaps wrapped a bit of hide around the wound and called it a day. In the past, he would have done so. But he was older now, and wounds took longer to heal.

Perhaps he still would have, if Halo hadn’t told him of Crux’s interest in healing. Instead, there was an opportunity to be had here. He rested wearily on his rump and lifted his head to the late afternoon sky. Calling out for his son, giving just enough information for the boy to know it was healer-related. He was curious to see what supplies the boy would bring.


"Speech"