The old beaten paths

The voice at his border was one he had not heard in some time. He lifted his head to the wind, his ears raised and tilted. There had been a time, long lost to him now, when that voice had been a fixture in his life. He felt the nostalgia wash over him, threatening to sweep him away. He was reminded of the first day she had been brought to him. Trailing behind his wife like a lost lamb. She had been a fragile thing then, and one his wife had taken under her wing. He had trained her, and she had shown her strength. He had gifted her ornate bracers, carved to show her rank when she had risen to his General. She had saved him when his adopted daughter had vanished, and he had forsaken his health to find her. She had fallen in love with Resin, and asked to leave when that old wolf had. She had flourished further in the Hallows, and saved him again when he thought to join his wife. The first time he had thought her dead.


If only he had been as wrong this time. They had not parted on the best of terms, and his paws were slow as they turned away from his work and made his way to the border. Tamsyn stood as a reminder of time, of how things had developed and changed as they grew. When he saw her, he was shocked to see had aged. A foolish thing to catch him by surprise, but it did all the same. He came to a halt before her, and dipped his head at his oldest friend. “Tamsyn, is everything alright?” He asked her softly. If she had come to him looking for help, he wouldn't forget the 

debt he owed her.