Home is where the floor is

-set at least a few days into the Blight-

Wylan was idling about the Treehouse. There wasn’t an awful lot he could do at the moment, and he felt like the whole pack was holding its breath. Where would all this lead? He was worried of course about the people he loved. He was sitting in his room when the treehouse started to creak. He tilted his head to the side at the strange noises the wood was making. Was something wrong with the treehouse?

He started to get up, taking a few steps towards his door, when suddenly the entire world seemed to move. Sliding, slipping. The branches the treehouse was built into made an awful snap, and he let out a shocked cry as tumbled what had once been a wall. Falling, falling! He flared his wings in fright, smacking them against the sides of the walls as he went down. Then there was an almighty jolt, and his vision went black.


"Wylan"